


Buyer's Remorse

by dracoqueen22



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, nonconsensual drug use, nonconsensual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For all he can't remember, this is something that Ichigo will never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Possible slash, het, or femslash. No romance/no pairings.

Ichigo wakes to the brightness of the morning's sun as it beams directly into his eyes. He flinches, turns away with an audible groan, and squeezes his eyes shut. He feels drowsy, exhausted, like he's spent the entire night fighting Hollow after Hollow. His mouth is dry, tastes fuzzy, and he wants nothing more than a cold glass of water to wash it down.   
  
The futon is lumpy. The futon is not his bed.   
  
Ichigo's eyes pop open, and for a minute, he can't remember where he is. The room is barely decorated; it's definitely not his bedroom. But the thrumming, idle sense of reiatsu surrounds him like a murmur in the background.   
  
Oh. Right. He's in Seireitei. In Renji's spare room, so graciously lent to him.   
  
And he's naked.   
  
Ichigo bolts from lying to sitting up in the space of half a second. The sheets pool around his waist and help to outline the fact that he's well and truly nude. There's not a scrap of cloth on his body, and he feels clean, too clean.   
  
Ichigo doesn't sleep naked. He never sleeps naked. After spending his entire life with little sisters and a father who likes to engage in early morning combat, Ichigo has learned to always wear _something_ to bed.  
  
But he's naked right now, and for the life of him, Ichigo can't remember why.   
  
Swallowing thickly, Ichigo glances around the unfamiliar room. The only other pieces of furniture are a single chair and a small dresser. On the latter is where he spies his clothes, which are neatly folded in a little stack.   
  
Ichigo has never made a habit of folding any time before. Much less before bed.  
  
Something cold twists in his belly, something that makes him draw up his knees and frantically try to recall the night before. A smell filters to his nose, a light whiff of musk and sweat. Even Renji, with his sporadic attempts at housekeeping, wouldn't make Ichigo sleep on a futon with dirty sheets.   
  
He can't remember what happened last night.  
  
One hand rakes through his hair as Ichigo fights down a rising tide of panic. His reiatsu slips loose, rattling the walls, and he forces himself to reel it back in.   
_  
Just breathe. Breathe_.   
  
He remembers why he came to Seireitei. Ichigo remembers that last night was his birthday party. That pretty much all of his friends and acquaintances were there. The bar and restaurant were packed with people going in and out all night, drunken and sober. Alcohol flowed freely, but Ichigo knows he turned it down. He’s still only nineteen after all, even if the authorities would never know.   
  
He recalls being at the party, laughing and joking and making fun of a very drunk Ikkaku. He remembers Yoruichi-san and Lisa offering him a striptease and then having his face shoved in Matsumoto-san’s chest followed by a chorus of catcalls. He even recollects an awful prank that turned Shinji’s skin blue by mistake and Urahara-san practically wetting himself with laughter. But Ichigo can't remember how he got back to Renji's place. He doesn't know why he's naked, why he's clean, why his sheets smell faintly of sex.   
  
Ichigo can't remember a goddamn thing.   
  
He bolts from the bed, standing nude in the middle of the room, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. There's a mirror hanging on the door of the small closet, something Ichigo finally remembers. And he moves toward it and stares at his reflection, but he doesn't look at his face, unwilling to see his own building panic.   
  
For the most part, there's little to see. Ichigo spies a few scratches on his belly, just raised lines that’ll fade in a few hours. He has a bruise on his right shoulder, like he'd bumped into something, and another on his left thigh. They are small and light, something else destined to fade before tomorrow.   
  
Ichigo shifts experimentally. He's not sore anywhere, not in the slightest. At most, he's exhausted, drained, feeling like he could lay down for a few more hours and still be tired. His limbs feel heavy; his mind is fuzzy.   
  
He's really starting to worry. All the signs are pointing to a very uncomfortable realization, one that Ichigo doesn't think he's prepared to deal with.   
  
Naked. Clean. Smelling like sex. Mind empty of memories that he knows couldn't be caused by alcohol…  
  
Suddenly, Ichigo feels a hell of a lot like throwing up. The sensation churns in his belly, and he feels the color drain from his face. He slams the closet door all the way shut, hand pressing over his mouth, and tries to force down the bile.   
  
How in the hell did this happen? This kind of shit is not supposed to happen, not to him. All the Shinigami powers in the universe, and he wakes up not remembering a thing.   
  
Who the fuck…  
  
Ichigo chokes, finds himself coughing as his heart thuds in his chest, harder and harder. He scrambles for the change of clothes he'd brought with him, suddenly uncomfortable with his nudity. It feels like eyes are around him everywhere, watching without his consent.   
  
He thinks of ghostly fingers wandering over his body, nails scratching his flesh. He thinks of foreign lips and a foreign tongue. And damn, he can't even put a face to whoever did this. He doesn't have a fucking clue.   
  
His reiatsu rattles the walls again, and Ichigo knows that he's losing it.   
  
He's frantic as he searches the room, looking for an answer, a clue, anything to fill in the blanks. He breathes a sigh of relief when he finds Zangetsu, untouched, unbothered, and is glad that he hasn’t been taken. In fact, Ichigo still has all his belongings. Nothing is missing, but nothing foreign has been left behind either.   
  
If it wasn't for the huge gaps in his memory, Ichigo could almost believe that he'd just had a really vivid wet dream. If it weren't for the fact he woke up naked and on clean sheets that smelled like sex, he might be able to convince himself he was imagining things.   
  
He has to get out of here.   
  
Swallowing once more, Ichigo grabs Zangetsu, returns the blade to his rightful place, and throws open the door. Renji's place is almost completely silent, but the door to his bedroom is cracked open with the sound of snores drifting through.  
  
Ichigo hesitates, unsure of what he should do.   
  
Logic screams at him to run to the police immediately, but here in Seireitei, the police are the Shinigami. And the last thing Ichigo wants is for anyone to know what happened. Fuck, _Ichigo_ doesn't even know what happened.   
  
Scratch the police. Ichigo needs to figure out just where his night went so utterly wrong. He needs to fill in the gaps.   
  
He needs to talk to Renji.   
  
Without giving it further thought, Ichigo storms to his best friend's door--   
  
Wait. He pauses, mid-stride, eyes widening.   
  
What if it was Renji?   
  
That thought crops up before he can stop it. And then, Ichigo shakes his head. Almost thinking to slap himself in the face.   
  
No, it wasn’t. Renji would never do that. Not even in Ichigo's worst nightmares would he believe that. It's just not something Renji's capable of doing. He's an idiot and an asshole, but he's not a ra-- he's not that kind of bastard. And now, Ichigo himself is being an idiot.   
  
Squaring his jaw, Ichigo resumes his course and flings Renji's door open with little finesse. It slams into the slot with a loud bang. One that makes Renji burst into a semi-coherent state with flailing limbs and a jumble of words that make no earthly sense.   
  
“Nrgh. Whatsammater?”   
  
“Renji,” Ichigo says, and his voice enough to cause the bleary redhead to look his direction. “What the--”   
  
Here, he pauses. He can't very well ask what happened last night because Renji can't know he doesn't remember anything.   
  
His friend groans, flopping back down on his own futon and pulling the blanket up over his head. “I'mreallyfuckin'hungover,” he mumbles, though it takes a moment for Ichigo to translate that.   
  
Ichigo words his question carefully. “What time did you finally leave the party?”   
  
“Late,” Renji mutters on a slow exhale, sounding like he's about to go right back to sleep. “Long after your wimpy ass called it a night.”   
  
“So you saw me leave?”   
  
“Fuck no!” Renji grumbles, and the covers rustle. “I didn't even notice ya'd left until after ya were gone.”   
  
Ichigo should’ve known better than to get a coherent answer out of Renji, but he tries anyway. The panic inside of him demands answers.   
  
“That doesn't make any sense.”   
  
One hand emerges from the nest of covers, waving at Ichigo as though trying to encourage him to leave.   
  
“Look, kid. My head's poundin', and I might just get sick on ya. What do ya want me ta say? I think I drank half the fuckin’ bar.”   
  
This isn’t helping.   
  
“Fine, asshole. Go back to sleep,” Ichigo mutters and whirls on his heel, leaving Renji's room and making sure to slam the door behind him.   
  
If Renji has anything to say in response, Ichigo doesn't hear it, nor does he care to. He stands in the middle of the main room, seething and frantically trying to rack his brain. He skittishly avoids the blank space where last night should be, forcing calm where he doesn't have it. He can't break; he can't afford to break. Ichigo knows he should be stronger than this.   
  
He _is_ stronger than this.   
  
Almost the entire Gotei 13 was there last night. Over four dozen of his closest friends and acquaintances were in attendance. Surely, one of them remembers when he left and who he might have left with.   
  
But then, one of them has to be the culprit.   
  
Ichigo feels ill again. He finds the nearest chair and collapses into it, rubbing his forehead with fingers that refuse to stop shaking. His thoughts are a cluttered, jumbled mess; he can't seem to put them into a semblance of order. He wants a bath, something with hot water where he can scrub and scour his flesh with soap until he feels clean again.   
  
Clean...  
  
Ichigo's eyes pop open, dread curling his belly. He hears Isshin's stern voice rattling in the back of his head, memory so fresh it echoes in his ear. Lecture upon lecture about safe sex and condoms and all the nasty little diseases one can get for a brief moment of stupidity.   
  
He breaks into a cold sweat. Screw the police, what Ichigo needs is a doctor. Heaven only knows what he might’ve picked up. He has no clue if the Shinigami are susceptible to human diseases; it's not exactly a topic that comes up in casual conversation. His only relief is that there's no risk of being pregnant, but there's a hell of a risk for a lot of other things. Things Ichigo can only speculate about because he just doesn't know.   
  
And it's the not knowing that scares the shit out of him.   
  
Ichigo can't imagine telling anyone the truth, but he's also not a doctor. He doesn't know what to look for. He can't keep this to himself. He has to go to the fourth division, but the idea of telling Unohana-san _anything_ makes him squirm out of sheer mortification. He doesn't really know that tall chick who always blushes or the other guy who talks to himself a lot. The only one he really knows is Hanatarou.   
  
Ichigo chews on his bottom lip.   
  
He can trust Hanatarou, he thinks. Yes, it’ll be embarrassing to admit that something had happened last night, but he's pretty sure Hanatarou isn't the type to gossip. And he's a healer; he knows how to be professional. And admittedly, the fact that Hanatarou is a lot smaller than Ichigo and easily intimidated is comforting.  
  
He can only hope that the guy is on duty today. Otherwise, things are going to get really awkward, really fast.   
  
Ichigo feels jittery when he gets back to his feet, the languid sensation in his limbs fading away to be replaced by an anxious restlessness. He can't focus enough to rein in his reiatsu, so it vibrates around him with a low buzz. He knows he must be broadcasting and thanks whatever god is listening that he's in Soul Society and not Karakura where he’d likely be calling to every Hollow in existence.   
  
He leaves Renji's place and steps into a bright morning that's already promising a sweltering, suffocating day. He turns in what he thinks is the direction of the fourth division, still a little confused by Serieitei's numerous streets, alleyways, and random buildings even after all this time.   
  
Ichigo can't remember when he's paid so much damn attention to his surroundings though. Suddenly, it feels like there are eyes everywhere, and they’re watching every move. He feels like it must be so damn obvious, as though it's painted on his forehead or there's a neon sign floating over his head that's pointing directly at him. Passing Shinigami stare, and maybe that's just because he's a familiar face, even if he has no clue of their identities. Or maybe it's because he's about to lose his mind and it shows.   
  
It's already warm and muggy outside, but it does nothing to chase away the chill in Ichigo's bones. He hunches his shoulders, for once feeling unnecessarily exposed in his shihakushou, but he’s never hated his hair so much as in that moment. Even with all the wacky colors available in Soul Society, it’s still so damn noticeable. Any other shade certainly would’ve been better camouflage. Part of him wants nothing more than to disappear into the crowd. Another part cringes at the idea of people and so many other bodies close enough to touch. The thought makes him physically ill, and his stomach cramps.   
  
Ichigo tries not to keel over then and there.   
  
“Ichigo-kun!”   
  
His heart crawls into his throat. Ichigo whirls, eyes ridiculously wide as he watches Yumichika approach him from behind, calling out with a large smile and a hand waving purposefully into the air. Not wildly, elegant as always, but just enough for Ichigo to notice him.   
  
He has a moment of panic that Ichigo quickly stamps down. He's fine, he's normal, there's nothing to overreact about. Nothing happened. At least, nothing that Yumichika needs to know.   
  
“I was looking for you,” the fifth-seat says as he draws closer, all sparkles and sunshine, and Ichigo wonders how anyone can be up this early and be so cheerful. It isn’t even midmorning yet.  
  
Ichigo remains cautious, however. Especially since Yumichika's hands are behind his back.   
  
“Why?” he inquires, almost skeptical about it all.  
  
“Because you left before I could give you your present last night,” Yumichika explains with a winning smile.  
  
And before Ichigo can respond, the man thrusts a gaily wrapped package in his face. Complete with bow and ribbon and bright, sparkly wrapping paper.   
  
“In fact,” Yumichika continues as if not really hearing himself speak, “you left before half of us could hand them over.”   
  
“Did I?” Ichigo asks, warily accepting the gift.   
  
Yumichika suddenly looks at him, head cocked to the side and purple eyes focused. “You did,” he confirms. “I can't remember when you slipped out, but we were all pretty surprised that the birthday boy made himself scarce.” He scowls, lips pulling into an annoyed moue. “Then again, if Ikkaku hadn't been trying to shove alcohol down your throat, you wouldn't have made a run for it. So unbeautiful that man is at times.”   
  
Ichigo's fingers press curiously against the wrapping. He’s only able to tell that it was box-shaped though.  
  
“Getting drunk seems to be a requirement for them,” he comments distractedly, disappointed that Yumichika doesn't seem to know when he left or who he might’ve left with either.   
  
“Considering how many dumb things he's gotten into, you'd think he'd know better,” Yumichika agrees with a pointed roll of his eyes. He pats Ichigo on the shoulder and doesn't seem to notice when Ichigo cringes, already sliding into his next words. “Anyway, I'm glad I found you before I headed in to the eleventh. Apparently, I'm the only one not ridiculously hungover today.”   
  
Of course Yumichika looks pristine. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in his shihakushou, despite the fact Ichigo distinctly remembers him consuming at least twice as much hard liquor as the rest of the eleventh in attendance.   
  
“Apparently.” Ichigo manages a half-smile that he doesn’t really feel. “Thanks though.”   
  
Yumichika beams at him. “You're welcome.” He whirls back the way he came with a flirty wave over his shoulder. “See you later. And happy birthday, Ichigo-kun.”   
  
Happy birthday.   
  
Ichigo fights the bitter retort that seeks to spill past his lips. Some birthday this has turned out to be. He can't think of a way it could have possibly gone worse.   
  


o0o0o

  
The fourth division is quiet, smelling strongly of antiseptic and the subtle perfume of fresh flowers. Ichigo fights the urge to fidget as he sits in one of the examination rooms wearing a robe that's far too thin and reveals far too much leg for his own comfort. It's a little chilly, despite the blazing heat outside, or maybe Ichigo's own roller-coaster emotions are making him shiver.   
  
He can't know for sure.  
  
A light knock on the door makes Ichigo's heart skip a beat, and he swallows to clear his throat.   
  
“Come in.”   
  
A part of him remains on edge, until Hanatarou's familiar face is the one who appears. Only then does Ichigo relax.   
  
Hanatarou tries for a comforting smile, but it's shaky, and really, it doesn't help. Ichigo doesn't think he's going to feel comfortable for a long time.   
  
“I'd like to draw blood first, if that's okay,” Hanatarou says, and there's a caution to his movements that Ichigo hates just a little.   
  
He understands. It makes sense. But he hates that it's necessary.   
  
Ichigo nods. He can handle his blood being drawn. That's no big deal.   
  
He's quiet and patient as Hanatarou gets the necessary equipment. He doesn't even hold his breath as the tourniquet is applied and Hanatarou searches for a good vein, his actions clear and professional.   
  
“Do you want to talk about it, Ichigo-san?” Hanatarou asks quietly, completely focused on the task at hand, sounding like the doctor Ichigo trusts him to be.   
  
“Not really,” he confesses, not even wincing when the needle pierces his skin. In the long run of punches and stab wounds and claw marks and cero, a little needle isn't even felt. “But I know I have to. Even if I can't remember anything.”   
  
Hanatarou nods slowly. “What do you remember?”   
  
“The party,” Ichigo answers and distances himself, some of the evening coming back to him with sharp clarity. “I remember being there and some of the gifts that were given to me. I remember people dancing and getting drunker. I remember a lot of noise and Ukitake-san making me wear that stupid hat…” He makes a face. “I don't remember leaving. I don't remember how I got back to Renji's place. And I don't know why I woke up... like that.”   
  
Ichigo closes his eyes because it's easier for him to speak if he pretends he's just talking to himself and not Hanatarou. If he just pretends Hanatarou’s voice and questions are floating out of the ether and there's no real person there to hear his answers.   
  
Blood acquired, Hanatarou gently applies a kidoh over the small puncture and unties the tourniquet. “What else was there?”  
  
“My clothes were folded, and I smelled sex on the sheets.” Ichigo feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment, even as he cringes from the truth. “But I was clean, like someone had wiped me down.”   
  
“Were you sore? Bruised? Hurting anywhere?”   
  
Ichigo shakes his head, hearing Hanatarou bustle around the room. “No,” he says tightly and lifts up his arm. “There was a small bruise here and one on... on my thigh. Along with some scratches on my stomach.” He peels open his eyes, watching as Hanatarou looks over the purplish spot on his arm.   
  
Big blue eyes, always so damn honest and now painfully concerned, turn to him. “Ichigo-san... would you be okay with me examining you?”   
  
Ichigo knows that Hanatarou has to; it's practically in the guidebook for these kinds of situations. But that doesn't mean he has to like the idea of it.   
  
He nods, not trusting his words, and wonders when the hell this torture will be over.   
  


o0o0o

  
“It's a drug we use on unruly patients… and to interrogate prisoners,” Hanatarou explains, looking as disgusted as Ichigo feels. “It's primary effect is to make someone pliable and then forget whatever happened.”   
  
The answers don't make Ichigo feel any better. In fact, he feels a bit worse now and wonders how close the nearest trash bin is. Just in case any of his meals want to make a reappearance.   
  
Someone had slipped him the Shinigami equivalent of a roofie. He can't believe his ears.   
  
“How could someone have gotten a hold of this?”   
  
Hanatarou winces. “Anyone in the fourth would have access. As well as anyone in the second division or even the twelfth.”  
  
Ichigo's immediately glad that he's been allowed to change out of the thin robe and back into his own clothes. But he suddenly wishes for a thick, warm coat to swaddle himself in.   
  
“So there's no one way to trace who could have done it?”   
  
The apology in Hanatarou's eyes is almost as painful as his pity. “No, Ichigo-san. I'm sorry.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, and Ichigo has the feeling he's not going to like what comes next. “Ichigo-san... I'm required to report occurrences like this.”   
  
The icy shards return to Ichigo's belly with a vengeance. “No,” he says firmly, voice dead and final. “No way in hell.”   
  
“I have to,” Hanatarou returns gently. “You don't have to be there. You don't have to say anything. But Unohana-taichou has to know.”   
  
It's like getting fucking... It's like this thing he doesn't remember happening is occurring all over again. He's still sitting here unable to stop it, watching a train wreck happen right before his eyes.   
  
A part of him is tempted to beg.   
  
“Hanatarou,” he begins and pulls strength out of his ass, the same strength that got him back on his feet after Ulquiorra turned his chest into a window. “I don't want anyone to know. No one at all. _Ever_.”   
  
“No one's going to know,” Hanatarou insists, leaning forward as though he wants to pat Ichigo on the hand but thinks better of it. “I promise. Unohana-taichou would never betray her vows as a healer.”   
  
Ichigo's on his feet before he can think to do otherwise. He’s suddenly stifled in this small room with Hanatarou's concern filling up the small space. He wants to breathe, and he can't, not here.   
  
“Fine.” His restlessness makes his legs tremble. “You do what you have to do, and I'll do what I have to do.”   
  
Hanatarou looks troubled. He stands, too.   
  
“Ichigo-san, you should stay a little longer. Maybe talk to someone...?”  
  
Fuck no. But Ichigo doesn't say that because Hanatarou has helped him and Ichigo won't be unnecessarily cruel.   
  
“No, thanks. I'm leaving.”   
  
He doesn't give Hanatarou a chance to convince him otherwise, just makes himself scarce from the fourth as quickly as possible. The place smells of antiseptic and fresh flowers. That scent has soaked into his nose, and his stomach won't stop churning.   
  


o0o0o

  
Ichigo heads back to Renji's place, skittish from anyone who tries to approach him while attempting to look like it's only because he's in a hurry. Which is true but not for the reason that they might suspect.   
  
He borrows Renji's private bathroom, thanking any god listening that Renji can afford an actual bathing room, and scrubs himself until his skin is pink and shiny. He throws on his clothes, packs up his shit, and makes a beeline for the gate. He has a sudden urge to be nowhere in Soul Society right now, and if he has his way, he won't be returning anytime soon.   
  
All Ichigo wants is to go home to his own house and his own shower. A very hot shower with a full bar of soap and the biggest, loosest clothing he can find.   
  
On the scale of shitstorm his life has become after discovering his Shinigami powers, this ranks up there on the same level of his mother dying and his inability to prevent Rukia from being taken. It's like someone has stolen something from him, something he can't get back no matter how hard he fights. Worse, there's no name to blame or face to hate.   
  
Worse than that even, for all he can't remember, this is something that he'll never forget.   
  
*****


	2. Chapter 2

It's cold, but he feels fevered all over. He can't stop shivering, and his head is pounding so badly he can feel his pulse in his ear. His heart flutters more than beats in his chest, struggling like a bird that can’t quite stay airborne. His clothes cling to him, sticky with sweat, and he can feel it slicking his skin. He hurts all over, the discomfiting throb of the truly ill. His belly has twisted into knots, and his mouth is dry and tasting like cotton.   
  
He doesn't know what happened to his kenseikan. He's not wearing it; he can't remember if he grabbed it even. He's carrying his scarf; his fingers were unable to wrap it around his neck without choking himself in the process. He doesn't know where his haori is either. It wasn't in the pile of carefully folded clothes that were by the bed where he woke.   
  
The road is uneven beneath him, and Byakuya stumbles, lacking all the grace of his usual walk. The world spins and spins. He's dizzy, mind cloudy. His limbs are so heavy, legs trembling, extremities so unbearably cold.   
  
“Kuchiki-taichou?”   
  
‘ _I must get home_ ,’ he tells himself. Relieved that home is one of the few things he remembers despite the fog in his brain.   
  
“Are you alright, sir?”  
  
“Sir, are you ill?”  
  
“Taichou, can you even hear us?”  
  
The ground shifts beneath him, and Byakuya pauses, drawing in a labored breath. The world goes silent, sound ceasing to exist, and everything spins and spins and spins. He looks down, sees a street below, and it's racing up to meet him.   
  
o0o0o  
  
“They said he just fell in the street.”   
  
“He's burning up.”   
  
“We have to cool him down.”   
  
Byakuya tries to make his lips move, but everything refuses to obey. His throat is sore, and his stomach clenches, but there's nothing left in him. Not anymore. He wants to open his eyes, but the lids feel weighted down by lead.   
  
“Keep his airway clear.”   
  
“Damn, his heart won't stop racing.”   
  
o0o0o  
  
“Has Kuchiki-taichou been ill recently?”   
  
“No.”   
  
A quiet voice, thick with worry.   
  
Rukia.   
  
Byakuya would know his sister's voice anywhere.   
  
“Has his behavior been strange at all?”   
  
Unohana, sounding concerned and confused, as though she's not sure what has happened.   
  
“He left his haori in the office.”   
  
A deep voice, rough and uncultured, accent that of a stray from Rukongai. Renji then.   
  
“And he actually let me off early to go ta th' festival.”   
  
“But he's not been sick?” Unohana asks again.   
  
“Not that I know of,” Renji answers, just as baffled, just as concerned. “But taichou don' exactly like to show when he's sick, yanno?”  
  
If Unohana says something else, Byakuya doesn't hear it. The darkness quickly reaches up to claim him again.   
  
o0o0o  
  
Byakuya's eyes flutter open, and he finds himself staring at a white ceiling, lying in an unfamiliar and uncomfortable bed, feeling oddly fatigued. There's something on his face, something covering his mouth and pressing into his cheeks. A cool wisp of air puffs across his lips, and his eyes feel gummy, as though he's been sleeping for days.   
  
It's too much effort to lift his hand, but Byakuya can at least look around his room. He's aware enough that he recognizes the fourth division, but he can't for the life of him recall why he's had to come here. He vaguely remembers stumbling into Seireitei, but that's where his memories end.   
  
Rukia sits in a chair at his bedside. Her hand is clasped around his, head pillowed on her arm which rests on the edge of the bed. She looks tired, dark circles around her eyes as though worry has sucked the vigor from her.   
  
But she's not the only one here.   
  
The chair in the corner is also occupied, by his vice-captain no less. Renji's bulk is crammed into the tiny seat, his head propped on his hand while his elbow balances on the arm. He looks uncomfortable, lines of concern etched into his features. He's softly snoring though, a sound which doesn't seem to be disturbing Rukia in the slightest. She's probably used to it.   
  
There is another chair, but it's empty of whoever has been sleeping in it, a blanket carefully folded on the cushion. Something about the cover calls to Byakuya's memory, but it flitters away in the next moment, distracted by the cheeriness that attempts to gleam from every corner.   
  
No matter where Byakuya looks, his vision is overwhelmed by vases of bright flowers and other get-well gifts.   
  
“Nii-sama?”   
  
Rukia's soft voice, filled with relief, calls Byakuya's attention back to her. She has lifted her head, blue eyes swimming with unshed moisture.   
  
“You're awake.”   
  
Byakuya's lips move but no sound emerges, so he settles for nodding his head.   
  
She smiles, scrubbing her free hand over her face in an attempt to conceal her relieved tears. “Hold on, I'll get Unohana-taichou. She can take off that mask, okay?”   
  
Rukia kisses his hand and rises from her seat, making good on her promise. As she leaves, Renji wakes with a wide yawn and a long stretch.   
  
“Taichou!” he greets, rubbing his face. “Aren't you a sight fer sore eyes?”   
  
Byakuya, unable to speak, rolls his eyes.   
  
Renji doesn't seem to notice his captain's reaction. He just plops himself down in the chair that Rukia vacated, looking very cheerful.   
  
“Don't worry,” Renji continues, as though he can't stand the silence. As if he has to talk to fill it because the alternative is something he won't stomach. “The division’s fine. I've been doin' my job.”   
  
‘ _I knew that you would_ ,’ Byakuya thinks and is glad he can't speak. It saves him from having to come up with a suitable alternative. Even if it is true.   
  
“We were pretty worried,” Renji continues, eyes skittering away as though the sight of his captain in this bed, hooked up to these machines, scares him. He rubs the back of his head and tugs on his ponytail. “For awhile there, we didn't know if ya were goin' ta make it.”   
  
Byakuya stares at Renji, hoping that the force of his gaze will encourage his lieutenant to elaborate more on what happened. Such as how long it's been, why Byakuya was so sick, why he can't remember a damn thing, and why he's so tired it feels like someone is trying to drag him down into the shadows, kicking and screaming all the way.   
  
“It got so bad Ukitake-taichou even called in Ichigo. For... uh... moral support ya know.”   
  
He wants to scream, to demand answers. But all he can do is wait for Renji to get to the point. A thing that his vice-captain keeps skittering away from as though it terrifies him.   
  
“Everyone thinks ya were poisoned,” Renji continues, leaning back in the chair and looking far too large for it. “There are all kinds of rumors runnin' around Seireitei. Some of ‘em are pretty stupid.”   
  
‘ _Rumors usually are_ ,’ Byakuya thinks.  
  
But he sighs inwardly with relief when Unohana-taichou comes bustling into the room, effectively ending the awkward moment. If he doesn't have to sit through another one of these again, it won't be a second too soon.   
  
Unohana smiles, and Rukia is right on her heels as she walks over. They both look relieved. Byakuya tries for a reassuring nod of his head, but the drag on his eyelids is back and all he wants to do is sleep.   
  
Unohana-taichou is talking, saying something. But Byakuya's ears are muffled. His eyes flutter, and he doesn't bother to fight it anymore.   
  
He sleeps.   
  
o0o0o  
  
He wakes to a soft hand on his forehead and a voice coaxing him out of sleep. He feels a thousand times better than the last time he remembers being conscious. Byakuya's eyes open to a dim brightness, and Unohana smiles down at him.   
  
“Good morning, Kuchiki-taichou,” she says, and her hand moves back from his forehead. “How are you feeling?”   
  
He licks his lips with a tongue so dry it rasps over chapped skin. “Thirsty,” he croaks out and grimaces at the hoarse quality to his voice.   
  
She nods in understanding and holds a cup to his lips, one with a straw for easier drinking. Byakuya can't remember tasting something so sweet as the cold water that flows over his tongue and down his throat.   
  
“Better?” she asks as he finishes the cup, and she pulls it away.   
  
“Yes,” Byakuya replies, licking his lips again because they still feel dry and cracked. He swallows once or twice, as though ensuring that he can speak. “What happened?”   
  
Unohana turns away from him. “You were drugged, Kuchiki-taichou. And if not for my lieutenant, you probably would not have made it.”   
  
Drugged?   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
There's an anger building inside of him, curling nastily with other emotions. Like outrage and despair and embarrassment and disgust and worry. For the first time in many, many years, Byakuya's reiatsu isn't as controlled as he'd like, and it trembles around him like a scared child. A weak, scared, sick child.  
  
He's only consolation is that Unohana-taichou is the only one there to feel it.   
  
She eases into the chair at his bedside, eyes dark with carefully shielded emotion. “You had a bad reaction to a drug you ingested. It left you unconscious for days. If Isane hadn't recognized the signs...” Unohana trails off and tries for a warm smile. “What do you remember, Kuchiki-taichou?”   
  
It seems like such a simple question, but when Byakuya searches his mind, he has shadowy images and a huge blank space where a few nights ago should be. He vaguely remembers waking up in Rukongai and knowing only that he needed to get home.   
  
“I was in my office,” he starts slowly as that memory unfurls inside of him like a slowly blossoming flower. “And then, I woke up in Rukongai. I do not know how I got there or why. And frankly, I'm not entirely sure how I got here.”   
  
Here as in the fourth division.   
  
She nods sympathetically. “That's a common effect,” Unohana explains, and here, she appears to hesitate. “What do you remember from Rukongai?”  
  
He actually has to sit back and think. To concentrate on that wispy memory that's peppered with sensations of intense nausea, a pounding headache, and a fever raging his entire body.   
  
Byakuya stiffens, jaw clenching, as bits and pieces come back to him.   
  
Hands shaking so badly he can't don his kenseikan, so he carries it instead. His scarf keeps slipping from his fingers, so he carries that as well. His haori is gone; he can't remember why. He's cold, and he's hot. Both at the same time.  
  
He's not wearing any clothes when he wakes in an unfamiliar place. The room is clean and well-kept, and the bed is comfortable, but it's not his own. He's so off-balance, mind foggy, that he doesn't have a moment to spare on why he was nude. But Byakuya thinks about it now, days later, and feels a mortified heat creep into his face without his permission.   
  
Byakuya closes his eyes, swallowing again and again. His mouth is drier than ever before, and his throat is thick.   
  
“I was naked,” he says quietly, refusing to call it a weak whisper but also refusing to say it too much louder for fear anyone else would hear. Humiliating enough that he has to admit as much to Unohana. To any woman. To anyone.  
  
Humiliating enough that she probably already knew.   
  
o0o0o  
  
For Byakuya, the last person he would’ve expected to be sitting here in silence with him is Kurosaki Ichigo. Renji has returned to the sixth for paperwork and to ensure that the lower seats don't take this as an impromptu vacation. Rukia sleeps in a nearby room, actually in a bed for the first time since Byakuya was brought there. A well-deserved rest most assuredly. And something in Byakuya's chest squeezes at the thought of his sister sitting by his side for so long, praying and hoping and begging the gods not to take him.   
  
He can sit up in the bed now, something that Byakuya notices with no small measure of relief. The weakness has faded enough that he can feed himself, though his hands still occasionally shake, and he never seems to get enough water to drink.   
  
He hates this weakness. He hates feeling so powerless. He hates that he can't remember.   
  
“Me, too.”   
  
Byakuya blinks as the boy’s voice fills the expectant silence of the room. He turns his head to look at him and sees the boy looking back now. Kurosaki has spent the last twenty minutes staring out the window but now seems to be focused on Byakuya alone.   
  
“It happened to me, too,” he adds quietly. The tips of his ears burn, and there’s a flush to his cheeks. But there’s also a steely determination in his eyes.   
  
Byakuya licks his lips, trying to hide his utter shock. This is the same boy who blasted through Soul Society just a few years previous. Who defeats captains and traitors and Espada as easily as he breathes. And yet, he was taken down just as effortlessly as Byakuya himself. There aren’t truly words for this, but he tries anyway.  
  
“You were also… _ill_?”   
  
Ichigo shakes his head, fingers restlessly tapping over the arm of his chair. “No. Not that part. Unohana-san said you reacted badly to the drug.” He sighs heavily. “I guess I was lucky then.”   
  
“I don't think anything about this counts as luck,” Byakuya retorts automatically and surprises himself with the bitterness in his tone.   
  
Ichigo, however, doesn't seem offended. He nods again, one leg kicking out across the floor.   
  
“Rukia doesn't know,” he murmurs more to himself than to Byakuya. “Renji neither. I overheard Unohana-san talking to you, so don't think she betrayed your confidence.”  
  
Byakuya turns that over in his head. He weighs implications and new revelations and somehow a part of him is relieved to be able to speak of this to someone. To talk to another who isn’t just sympathetic but actually understands what it’s like.  
  
“When?” he asks and almost dreads the answer. He’s an adult, but Ichigo is barely more than a boy.  
  
“Only a few months ago.” Ichigo winces, looking as exhausted as Byakuya feels. “The last time I stayed longer than a half-day in Seireitei.”   
  
It must take incredible courage for Ichigo to admit as much. Particularly to him. Byakuya doesn't think he has the same nerve. He'd rather no one know. He can't stand the humiliation; it burns in a way that nothing ever has before. Not even when Ichimaru nearly killed him after he'd been given lessons on how to be a good sibling by a human _child_.   
  
“It's the fact I can't remember anything that's the worst part,” Ichigo adds almost like he’s read Byakuya’s mind. But really, it's more like he blurts it out, as if he is desperate for someone to understand and never had anyone he could tell before. “I can't stand having this fucking blank spot in my memory. I don't even know how I got back to Renji’s place.”   
  
Byakuya nods very slowly, swallowing over the growing lump in his throat. “I did not even wake up in familiar surroundings,” he admits because it seems Ichigo needs this comfort as much as Byakuya himself. “I remember nothing.”   
  
Ichigo's hands rub across the tops if his thighs as he clenches his teeth. The firming of his jaw is a clear indication of his rattled emotions.   
  
“And the weirdest thing…” he grits out the words, forcing them past his lips before he glances up with a confused and lost expression that Byakuya has no idea how to soothe. “They folded my fucking clothes. They wiped me clean as if that’d make it better, make it alright.”  
  
There’s a prickle at his memory with those words. Byakuya is still puzzling that over as he speaks again.  
  
“But it's not.”   
  
“No, it sure as hell isn't,” Ichigo hisses, visibly seething. His fingers curl around his knees, white-knuckled. A similar reaction to the way Byakuya's own hands have clenched and unclenched in his lap.   
  
Something stirs Byakuya's mind. It brings to light a dim and hazy recollection.   
  
His clothes were folded as well. They were set neatly by his bedside but folded nonetheless. He remembers searching his pockets after getting redressed, recalls that some of his money was missing but not enough to explain a possible robbery. But just enough to perhaps cover the cost of the room.   
  
Disgust ripples through Byakuya's core. “I think...” he begins, disbelief warring with humiliation and battling against utter and complete shame. “They made me pay for the room.”  
  
Ichigo comes up short. His jaw works for a moment soundlessly.  
  
“It was my birthday.”   
  
Byakuya's gaze shoots toward him, fighting to keep his jaw from dropping. His birthday? A few months ago he’d said. Byakuya remembers that celebration; Rukia convinced him to help fund it in truth of the matter. He actually attended it himself, and now, that he truly thinks back, he recalls that Ichigo disappeared rather early.  
  
“I can't think of a worse gift,” he comments absently.   
  
Ichigo snorts. “Yeah. You're telling me. Worst birthday. _Ever_.”   
  
His gaze falls again, as though focusing on the plain white of the walls will provide some protection. Byakuya himself stares down at the white of his sheets, and a silence falls between the two that’s thick with understanding and mutual horror.  
  
He is not alone in this. He isn’t by himself. Byakuya doesn't know words that can express how that makes him feel.   
  
o0o0o  
  
“You will still need to take it easy,” Unohana explains as Byakuya adjusts the fall of his robes and smoothes out the wrinkles. “Your body suffered quite a shock.”   
  
Byakuya nods. He reaches up and feels the familiar weight of the kenseikan in his hair before he realizes what he’s doing.   
  
“Light duty. Yes, Unohana-taichou, I understand. Nothing more strenuous than paperwork until you clear me otherwise.”   
  
He hates that he's still this weak. That his legs want to tremble and it takes great effort to keep his feet. But the last thing he'll accept is being carried or supported out of the fourth division. Byakuya wants to go home and back to work; he doesn't want to be coddled or treated like an invalid.   
  
He will walk out of here on his own two feet, damn it. Perhaps not alone, as Unohana has decided he’ll have an escort with no chance of arguing otherwise. However, it will be under his own power. On that, Byakuya will not bend.   
  
Unohana looks him over with a critical eye before something in her expression softens. “You will recover,” she says lightly. “And soon enough, you'll be good as new.”   
  
_But never the same._  
  
Byakuya keeps such thoughts to himself, however.   
  
“Rukia's waiting,” Ichigo reminds them then from Byakuya’s other side. He sounds a little sullen, probably because Unohana tasked him with carrying Byakuya's belongings.   
  
The noble resists the urge to roll his eyes and performs a shallow bow of gratitude to Unohana, his body allowing nothing else. Behind him, Ichigo waits with an impatient scowl that is more familiar than the anxious stressed look he's been bearing as of late. Still, the boy – man – is a comforting presence as they walk through the hallways of the fourth division and out the main entrance. He feels the stares burning between his shoulder blades as he strides down the streets. His head is held as high as he can possibly manage despite knowing the whispers and rumors that echo around him.   
  
He and Ichigo are the only ones who know the complete truth about what happened, but that doesn't make it any less mortifying. The fact that he'd been so sick that he'd collapsed and nearly died, only burns brighter and fiercer in his gut. Perhaps worse is the knowledge that he'll never remember.   
  
And Byakuya hates that he's never been so humiliated in his entire life.   
  
*****


	3. Chapter 3

Senpai is a lot heavier when he's drunk.   
  
“I'm not drunk,” Hisagi-san suddenly declares as though he's read Izuru's mind. “I didn't have nearly enough to be drunk.”   
  
He says this. But he's still stumbling and slurring some of these words and leaning far too heavily on Izuru's shoulders. Shaking his head, unable to hide his amusement, Izuru hooks one his senpai’s arms over his shoulders and allows himself to bear more of his weight.   
  
“Yes, yes,” the blond agrees absently. “You only drank three bottles of sake this time as opposed to five. Why, you might as well be sober.”   
  
Hisagi-san bursts into laughter loud enough to disturb anyone sleeping in the neighborhood. “See? And no one believes me when I tell them you have a sense of humor.” He leans against Izuru, all warm and sweaty flesh. “You should share it more often, Kira. ‘S good for ya.”   
  
“I'll keep that in mind,” Izuru returns dryly.  
  
He feels utterly relieved when Hisagi-san's house comes into sight, where he can finally drop off his burden and head back to his own home. Izuru is exhausted, and he'd really like some sleep before heading into the division tomorrow morning.   
  
“You should,” Hisagi-san slurs, stumbling a little on a loose stone in the street and nearly dragging Izuru down with him. “Door’s not locked by the way.”   
  
“That’s not exactly safe, senpai,” Izuru chastises as he reaches forward and pushes it open, grunting as he half-drags the other man inside.   
  
Hisagi-san makes a noise. He leans against the wall where Izuru sets him, panting softly like he's the one who should be exhausted.   
  
“Oh, yeah? And I'm a lieutenant. What do I have to worry about?”   
  
Izuru rolls his eyes and crouches briefly, long enough to struggle with the knots of Hisagi-san's waraji in order to remove them. His senpai is less than helpful, leaning drowsily against the wall as though he's going to fall asleep at any moment.   
  
Sometimes, Izuru wonders why he bothers being the reasonable one. The one who always makes sure his drunken idiot friends get home safely and don't drown in their own vomit. The fairness in these situations is just nonexistent.   
  
Standing again, Izuru grabs his half-conscious senpai and drags Hisagi-san to the back corner that is his bedroom. There, he drops Hisagi-san onto his futon – wisely laid down before he headed out for a night of carousing with his buddies. He fights getting dragged down with the heavy and sleepy man but somehow manages to stay standing.   
  
Hisagi-san groans as he hits the bedding. His limbs flop out as he wriggles around like a beached fish in effort to get comfortable.   
  
“Damn, Kira. I'm not a sack of rice,” he grumbles then.   
  
“You've enough sake in you to seem like one,” Izuru retorts and rests back on his heels for a moment to recover his breath. He rubs his shoulders, next wiping sweat from his forehead.   
  
Hisagi-san chuckles at Izuru's comment, one arm slinging up lay across his forehead. “I'm not that drunk,” he repeats, as though he's not made this declaration several times on the way home.   
  
Izuru rolls his eyes yet again. He sets about making sure Hisagi-san is comfortable and won't wake up with a crick in his neck in the morning, though it’d only serve him right. He glances disapprovingly at the organized mess that is Hisagi-san's room, piles of clothing and books and sword-sharpening supplies everywhere. He honestly doesn't know how his senpai can live like this.   
  
Shaking his head, Izuru wanders out of the room in search of a potential bucket in case Hisagi-san's sake decides to make a reappearance come morning. He's successful when he finds a small wastebasket in the much smaller spare room. But on his way out, Izuru glances at a shelf only to pause and become very puzzled. There's a blank spot in the middle where something once sat but not anymore. Izuru distinctly remembers Hisagi-san having a small picture there, one that Izuru himself had drawn years and years ago when he still imagined himself an artist.   
  
“Senpai?”   
  
“Nrgh” is the ever-so-coherent response Izuru receives as he wanders back into the bedroom. Hisagi-san is curled up on his side with a pillow shoved over his head.   
  
“What happened to that picture I gave you?” Izuru asks, knowing that his senpai isn't unconscious yet. The wastebasket rattles as he sets it near the futon.   
  
Hisagi-san rolls over, tugging the pillow out from over his head. “The one in the backroom?”   
  
“Yes, that one.”   
  
A low curse spills from the man's lips. “Fuck, don't remind me. It was that one-night-stand from hell.”   
  
Izuru blinks. “...What?”   
  
Hisagi-san waves one hand dismissively through the air. A drunken weave that does little to explain things.   
  
“A couple weeks ago I got wasted, took some chick home, and the bitch stole from me!”   
  
“She took the picture?” Izuru is certain that he missed something in that explanation.  
  
“Near as I can figure,” Hisagi-san mumbles, and his jaw cracks with a wide-mouthed yawn. “And I still can't remember a damn thing.”   
  
Izuru pauses mid-step, head cocked to the side. “What do you mean you can't remember?”   
  
“I just can't.” Hisagi-san rolls back over, arms curled around the pillow like he has every intention of going to sleep. “I was drunk, remember?”   
  
Izuru frowns. He's never known his senpai to get so drunk he can't remember anything. Not once in all the decades they’ve known each other. Not even times when he's been so plastered that his body responded violently.   
  
“Weird enough that she folded my clothes,” Hisagi-san adds, voice beginning to get that thick quality the nearly-asleep acquire. “I guess she figured it repayment for taking my damn picture. Bitch.”   
  
“When was this?” the blond questions rather faintly. The wheels in his head are already turning, and he doesn’t like the way everything is adding up.  
  
“What does it matter?” He sounds annoyed now, like Izuru's an asshole for keeping him awake.   
  
The blond sighs. “Humor me, senpai.”   
  
“I don't know. A month ago maybe?” Hisagi-san snorts and throws a hand upwards, like he’s trying to wave his friend away. “Going to sleep now. Thanks, Kira. See ya later.”   
  
“You're welcome,” Izuru replies, distracted.  
  
Hisagi-san says nothing else, just lets his arm flop back to the pillow as he cuddles against it. Izuru takes this as a dismissal and quietly makes himself scarce. He can't, however, ignore what Hisagi-san told him. The theft bothers him, but more than that, memory loss bothers him. It just doesn't add up. He wants to let it slide, chalk it up to Hisagi-san's usual and occasional indulgence of a one-night-stand. Izuru doesn't want to make a big deal out of nothing or blow things out of a proportion.   
  
But it just doesn't make any sense.   
  
o0o0o  
Izuru stews on it for days, finding his thoughts wander to the missing picture and Hisagi-san's lost memories at inopportune moments. He finds himself digging out his old materials from when he was a member of the fourth, scanning notes and personal anecdotes to find out why his senpai’s amnesia would bother him so much.   
  
Hisagi-san for his part doesn't seem troubled by the blank spot in his memories. If anything, he's more enraged by the fact his so-called one-night-stand had stolen from him. He elaborates a bit more when Izuru presses the next time they meet but can't understand why the blond wound find it so important.  
  
Frankly, Izuru can't understand why Hisagi-san finds it so easy to dismiss. He can't even remember what the woman looks like or her name. He can't remember drinking with her at the bar. He can't remember taking her home or any of their relations. He can't even be sure it was a woman for kami's sake!  
  
Hisagi-san can't recall a single detail, and the knot in Izuru's belly continues to grow. He increases the depth of his search, certain that the niggling thought in the back of his mind has a meaning. There's a reason all of this is cause for alarm.   
  
In an old notebook with scribbled notations and immature sketches, Izuru finds his answer. One that makes his blood burn with anger and his eyes narrow. He's furious with himself for not remembering something so obvious and knows what he has to do next.   
  
He has to speak with Unohana-taichou.   
  
o0o0o  
Izuru waits with bated breath for the captain to either confirm or deny his suspicions, to ease the frantic worry inside of him or only make it worse. He waits, hoping against hope that he's wrong and paranoid and Hisagi-san's denial is well-founded.   
  
His hopes are shattered to dust when Unohana-taichou gives him a sympathetic look.   
  
“Kira-san, I think it’d be best if you brought your friend in to see me.”   
  
His shoulders sag. “I was right?”   
  
“Without testing him, I can't be sure.” Her eyes are dark with brimming affront. “But from what you are describing, yes, your memory suits you well. It does sound like someone has taken advantage of Hisagi-fukutaichou.”   
  
Izuru feels cold all over. “I honestly hoped I'd come here and you'd tell me I was wrong,” he comments, sitting back in his chair and wondering how in the hell he's going to convince his senpai to come to the fourth.   
  
“I know.” Unohana-taichou sounds sympathetic, her voice warm and concerned. “The sooner you can get him here, the sooner we can know for sure. This is very worrisome.”   
  
She has no idea.   
  
“Yes, taichou. Thank you.”   
  
Izuru nods his head and rises to his feet. His earlier lunch is like a lead weight in his chest. One that refuses to budge.  
  
o0o0o  
“You have to talk to her.”   
  
Hisagi-san sighs, glaring at Izuru from the corner of his eyes. “Why?”   
  
“Because you can't remember who it was!”   
  
“So?”   
  
Izuru fights back the urge to scream and tear out his hair from sheer frustration. “Senpai, for all you know it was a gang of burly men who thought you looked like a pretty date for the night!”   
  
Hisagi-san snorts. He bends back over his paperwork, obviously believing Izuru has lost his mind.   
  
“I think I’d had a bit more pain in the morning if that’d happened.”   
  
“That's not the point, senpai,” the blond insists, wondering if he's going to have to drag his friend kicking and screaming to the fourth. Hisagi-san seems to be living in this happy land of denial where nothing happened, even though it's painfully obvious and worrisomely so to Izuru that _something_ did.  
  
He sighs and rubs his forehead with his fingers.   
  
“Senpai, don't you even _care_ that you can't recall anything?”   
  
“Why should I?” Hisagi-san shrugs and scribbles his brush across another semi-important document. “Can Unohana-taichou bring back my memories so I can kick the bitch’s ass for stealing from me?”   
  
“You'd never hit a woman, senpai.”   
  
“I might,” he retorts, lips twitching as though he were trying to hide his amusement. “If she stole from me.”  
  
“But you don't even know it was a woman,” Izuru reminds him. “For all you know, it could’ve been Aizen!”   
  
Hisagi-san sets down the brush with a clatter as he glares at Izuru. “That was a low blow.”   
  
Izuru isn't ashamed. He squares his jaw and meets his senpai's eyes without flinching.   
  
“I don't care,” he declares with his chin lifted. “You need to speak with Unohana-taichou.”   
  
They stare at each other, stubborn and unyielding, but Hisagi-san is the first to break. He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and leans back in his chair.   
  
“If I go, will you stop hounding me about it?”   
  
Izuru lets his shoulders sag with relief. “Yes.”   
  
“Fine,” Hisagi-san agrees with an annoyed huff and picks up his brush again, looking down at the documents scattered over the desk. “But not until I'm done with my paperwork.”   
  
That’s good enough for Izuru.   
  
o0o0o  
“You were drugged, Hisagi-fukutaichou,” Unohana-taichou begins gently.   
  
Izuru just winces. Hisagi-san though stares at her and shakes his head.   
  
“No, ma’am,” he says slowly, as though explaining something to a slow child. “I was drunk.”   
  
Izuru represses a sigh. He's never understood how good his senpai is at denial until now. He hates that there's a situation warranting that realization.   
  
“No,” Unohana-taichou corrects so very gently. “You were drugged. Your tests came back positive.”   
  
Hisagi-san shakes his head, leaning forward with elbows braced on his knees and hands clasped together. “I was drunk,” he repeats in a tone that refuses to believe anything else. “I was drunk, and the bitch stole my picture.”   
  
Izuru sees the moment Unohana-taichou realizes it's pointless to say otherwise. She purses her lips together, gives Hisagi-san a long look, and then closes his patient file with a quiet snap of paper. She sets it aside on the desk and folds her hands in her lip.   
  
“So you say, and certainly, it must be true then,” she acquiesces gracefully, and if not for the situation, it would almost be amusing the way Hisagi-san nods and visibly relaxes now that the captain is not going to press the issue. “What do you remember then?”   
  
Hisagi-san shifts as one hand scrubs over his messy hair. “Drinking. A lot,” he says. “I was with Renji and Kira, and damn, half the eleventh it seems.”   
  
“And do you remember anyone approaching you?” the captain questions gently, softly like she’s trying almost too hard to be pleasant. “Anyone you didn't really know?”   
  
“No. I don't.” He shakes his head. “The last thing I remember before waking up is Tetsuzaemon promising to buy everyone a round ‘cause he'd finally gotten some girl to talk to him.” Hisagi-san sniggers at that. “Who were we to argue? It was free booze.”  
  
Izuru listens, remembering that but not able to recall just whom Hisagi-san had left with. That was one of the few nights when Izuru hadn't been the designated sober one since Ayasegawa had been there. It seemed virtually impossible for that man to get drunk.   
  
Now, more than anything, Izuru wishes he hadn't decided to let loose and have a little fun as they were always trying to encourage him.   
  
“And in the morning?”   
  
Hisagi-san lets out a sharp exhale. Just a bluster of air that hints of annoyance he won't ever expressly exhibit to a captain.   
  
“I woke up ridiculously thirsty, naked, and unable to remember a damn thing. It wasn't until later that I even realized the bi-- the _woman_ stole from me.”  
  
That stops her up short.  
  
“You were naked?” she asks, and Izuru feels his belly grow cold without understanding why.  
  
“Yeah, but that's not exactly unusual.” A hint of red stains Hisagi-san's cheeks, the first sign of acute embarrassment that Izuru has seen. “Though I don't usually fold my clothes before going to sleep.”  
  
Something flashes in Unohana-taichou's eyes, and she visibly straightens. Hisagi-san is too busy looking everywhere but at her to notice. Izuru does, however. And he doesn't like what her reaction implies.   
  
She watches him closely, eyes narrowed. “Your clothes were folded?”  
  
Hisagi-san nods. He looks more uncomfortable by the second.   
  
“Yeah, though the weirdest thing was that I was clean, like I'd taken a bath. But you'd think I’d remember that.”   
  
Izuru's paying close attention, so he notices when Unohana-taichou's eyelashes flutter and her face pales. As though Hisagi-san's words are striking a bit too close to home.   
  
“I see,” she adds and studies Hisagi-san closely. “Is there anything else you remember?”  
  
“No.” His senpai looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but here right now, his foot restlessly tapping like he's ready to bolt. “Did you want to ask anything else, ma’am?”  
  
Unohana-taichou seems to understand. She shakes her head, offering him a warm, reassuring smile that never fails to comfort her patients.   
  
“No, Hisagi-fukutaichou. Though I would suggest curbing your alcohol habits in the future.”   
  
“Way ahead of you on that one,” Hisagi-san assures and all but rockets from his chair, and Izuru half-imagines him fleeing from Unohana-taichou's office with an inward vow never to return. “I've got paperwork to do, so...”   
  
“You can go.” Unohana-taichou's smile seems almost indulgent as she waves permission for him like they aren't all here for Hisagi-san's sake in the first place.   
  
He flees before Izuru can so much as stand. Thereby leaving the blond to sigh a little to himself and thank Unohana-taichou for the both of them.   
  
“His powers of denial are like none I’ve ever seen,” Unohana-taichou comments as Izuru rises to his feet. “It might be better for him in the long run if he continues to consider the circumstances a drunken encounter with a thief.”   
  
“The alternative isn't any better,” Izuru agrees and chews on his bottom lip, wishing he knew how to fix what he hadn't realized was broken until now. “The drug doesn't have any lasting harm, does it?”   
  
“No,” the captain replies heavily.   
  
Izuru releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A part of him hanging onto a concern that something might happen to Hisagi-san in the future.   
  
“But if he does remember anything else, I don't think he'll want to share such details,” she continues after a moment. “I'd appreciate it if you'd bring them to me.”   
  
Izuru frowns, something in her tone ringing of the other oddities he had noticed earlier. He shifts so that he's looking at the captain directly.   
  
“This has happened to someone else, hasn't it?” he realizes suddenly. “That's why you wanted to talk to Hisagi-san in person?”   
  
Unohana-taichou seems haunted and concerned, the skin around her eyes pinched with fatigue. But there’s a fire burning in them, too. A fire to find whoever is doing this and make them wish they'd never been born.   
  
“Unfortunately, yes. There were two others,” she admits, only to amend it a second later. “That I know about. This is forming a pattern, Kira-san, one that has me very concerned.”   
  
He stills, the twist in his gut mingling with an icy feeling of fear. “You think it's going to happen again?”   
  
“I can only assume.” She folds her lands into her lap. “For obvious reasons, I can't tell anyone the details, and I can only do so much. Please be aware, Kira-san. And for your own sake, please be careful.”   
  
Izuru nods, wondering when the hell it had come to this. It wasn't so long ago that they'd all had to suffer through Aizen's betrayal, and there’s still his war on the backburner. And now, one of their own is committing a terrible crime, made worse by the growing number of victims.   
  
When will they catch a break? When will they be able to just breathe?   
  
It seems like peace is a long time in coming.   
  
Izuru breathes in, slow and steady, and vows to keep his eyes open. To watch his friends more closely, to do his damndest to catch whoever this _bastard_ is as soon as possible. If Hisagi-san insists on living in his denial, then Izuru will just have to fight his battles for him. It's the least he can do; it's the best he can do.   
  
For all of them.  
  
*****


	4. Chapter 4

Retsu can't decide which infuriates and worries her more. That Hisagi-san is not chronologically the third victim but rather the second. Or that she hadn't known any better to think differently.   
  
Guilt swamps over her. For not knowing to look. For not realizing that there are more, victims who won't say or do anything. Who'll just believe their experience is due to intoxication. Those who might not even realize they have something to be worried over.   
  
Kurosaki-san's experience is terrible enough. And then to connect the dots later to Kuchiki-taichou's brush with death and Hisagi-san's “one-night-stand”, and Retsu realizes that there is a pattern right under her nose. A pattern of assault that makes her sick on the inside. Ill with rage and disgust.   
  
And she knows she can't let this lie.   
  
o0o0o  
  
She only finds three people who can remember Kurosaki-san leaving his birthday party. Anyone else she questions can recall that he left at some point – without even accepting all of his gifts – but not when or how.   
  
Their stories match. Kurosaki-san skipped out early. He left alone. No, he wasn't acting oddly. No, he didn't seem disorientated or even inebriated. No, he insisted on not drinking in fact, didn’t you know?   
  
Her suspect list is a mile long. There’s the Gotei 13 itself. The Onmitsukidoh members. The Kidoushuu. Perhaps even the Vizard or those from Karakura with their exile now lifted. All of them have potential access. All of them have the knowledge and cunning if not necessarily the will to do this. And there are only a few she can exclude with any certainty. Kuchiki-taichou, for one. And now Hisagi-fukutaichou. But still, it’s such an enormous and lengthy list that it makes the reality of the situation all the more distressing.   
  
She can't even focus on the people who Kurosaki-san talked to that night because it was his party, his birthday, his celebration. Everyone spoke to him. Everyone bought him a drink. Or tried to at least. Everyone brought him a present or shook his hand.   
  
Around Abarai-fukutaichou's flat, no one remembers anything from that night. No one saw Kurosaki-san when he arrived. No one heard anything. There is no sign of someone dragging an unconscious, fully grown male into the building. The room Kurosaki-san used was clean, more so than all the rest. There's no reiatsu to track, no lingering traces of whichever Shinigami was within the four walls. Just small pulses of Kurosaki-san's own energy.   
  
There are no clues. Nothing to even give Retsu the slightest hint of a direction. She only knows the details and that the perpetrator used a drug. Something that nearly any person in Seireitei can get their hands on. Her only certainty is that it hadn't been one of Kurosaki-san's human friends.   
  
It's a small favor.   
  
She hates that she can't give Kurosaki-san any answers. That all he has to show for this is a blank spot in his memory and the realization that he's helpless. That there's nothing he can do to make himself trust anyone ever again. Kurosaki-san is young, not quite a child anymore, but it still makes her blood boil. He is their ally, a friend to many of them. He has helped them with no thought to his own benefit, and this is how they repay his kindness.   
  
More than that even, his reaction to it all is telling. This was something that should’ve at least been pleasant for him. Special. Instead, it was taken from him. Stolen. And in such a manner that he’ll never even remember.  
  
Retsu can hardly swallow past the acid in her throat.  
  
He doesn't come to Seireitei much anymore, and Retsu mourns that as well. For all he has helped them, he should feel safe here. He should feel like Seireitei is as much his home as the living world. Instead, Kurosaki-san avoids Soul Society as though it were little better than Hueco Mundo. He refuses speaking of what happened to anyone, save Kuchiki-taichou later on, and even then only sparingly.   
  
It all makes Retsu feel just a little helpless herself.   
  
o0o0o  
  
When they bring Kuchiki-taichou in, barely alive and growing worse by the second, Retsu has no reason to connect his condition to Kurosaki-san's assault. She has no reason to think that they are similar or part of the pattern. She's too focused on keeping him alive, on figuring out what's wrong before she fails utterly.   
  
If not for her lieutenant's realization, Retsu fears that Kuchiki-taichou might have lost his life. Even now, she still curses herself for not thinking of it sooner. She had been so focused on the possibility that someone had tried to kill the Kuchiki head that she hadn't considered alternatives.   
  
It's only later, when Kuchiki-taichou is recovering, that Retsu sits to ponder the situation. When she stops to breathe, relax since he’s out of the danger zone, Retsu realizes the possible connection. But it's only a possibility, something on the edge of her mind.   
  
She hopes that she's wrong. That it's just a series of incredibly strange coincidences.   
  
Kuchiki-taichou is reluctant to talk, but he understands that he must. And when his story starts to resonate with Kurosaki-san's in familiar ways, Retsu feels the dread coil in her belly. So many details are similar, so similar they are exact. If not for the difference that Kurosaki-san woke up at a friend’s home and Kuchiki-taichou far from anything familiar, they'd be almost identical. Who could’ve guessed that Kuchiki-taichou would react poorly to the drug?  
  
Once Retsu is certain he’s stable, she starts to investigate. Abarai-fukutaichou remembers leaving early from work that night, per his captain’s permission, with the intention of attending the lantern festival in the third district. It's a rather popular event, one that Retsu knows a good deal of the Shinigami aspired to attend. Abarai-san recalls that he left his captain alone, working on the remaining documents for the day and sipping a cup of his favorite tea. But that isn't an unusual routine for any captain.   
  
Abarai-san hadn't thought anything out of the ordinary until he returned in the morning to find that his captain had left his haori behind. Certainly an odd behavior for him. One strange enough that if Kuchiki-taichou hadn't appeared shortly thereafter, Abarai-san would’ve perhaps even searched him out.   
  
Retsu retrieves the teacup personally, but by the time she gets to it, the entire set has been cleaned and dried per Kuchiki-taichou's standing orders. She'd like to consider the division member who prepared the tea a suspect, but the man doesn't know Kurosaki-san all that well and hadn't been present at his party. Plus, he seemed oddly terrified of Retsu when she questioned him.   
  
Kuchiki-taichou's sister, Rukia-san, doesn't recall him returning home the night of his disappearance. She doesn't remember seeing him at the festival either.   
  
Retsu traces his steps to the best of her ability, following his spotty memory and the path she thinks he’s mostly likely to have taken. The gatekeeper remembers seeing him head into Rukongai but hadn't thought anything odd of it. A lot of Shinigami were going there because of the festival. Kuchiki-taichou wasn’t even with someone that he saw, but there was a good deal of traffic going in and out. The gatekeeper’s only task was to make sure that the right people left and the wrong people didn't come in.   
  
After that, Retsu is at a loss.   
  
There are over a hundred inns scattered throughout Rukongai in just the first five districts alone. She doesn't think Kuchiki-taichou woke in any of the further ones; otherwise, he would’ve collapsed sooner after such a long trek. And in his semi-delirious state, he would’ve been easy pickings for any ruffian. Had that happened, they could’ve been even now still searching for him.  
  
Kuchiki-taichou can't recall where he woke up or which inn it was. He can't remember the direction he came from or even the general area. His journey back to Seireitei is a blur of sights and sounds and colors and rapidly fading senses.   
  
Like Kurosaki-san, Retsu finds herself at a loss for direction. Her only clues are the presence of the drug and the similar circumstances. Things only helpful if this were to happen again. She hopes and prays that it won't, but deep in her heart, she knows that if this is a repeat offender it's only a matter of time.   
  
She knows that Kurosaki-san is listening when she and Kuchiki-taichou talk, and Retsu pretends she doesn't because she knows both of these men. She knows they won't seek help otherwise. But maybe... maybe they will lean on each other. Particularly Kurosaki-san who's been rattled in ways that none of Retsu's vast experience can hope to help. She understands that for Kuchiki-taichou it is a matter of pride, but for Kurosaki-san it's something different. A matter of helplessness. Of being unable to do anything, especially with no face and no name.   
  
Retsu is relieved when Kurosaki-san confides in Kuchiki-taichou and has his confidence returned. A part of her is warmed by the connection that blossoms between the two, a firm and healing friendship that no one could’ve ever expected. Another part of her hates that it has taken something like this to break that last wall between them.   
  
She is there the day Kuchiki-taichou is released from the fourth division. It's not his vice-captain or his sister at his side, but Kurosaki-san who is there as support.   
  
Retsu smiles at the sight; it's the only pleasant outcome of this entire mess. She may not be able to give them answers, not just yet. But they'll have each other, and that's a start.   
  
o0o0o  
  
Once is an anomaly, twice a coincidence, and three times a pattern.   
  
Kira-san comes to her, hands twisting together, with a suspicion that Retsu wishes she can't confirm. She wishes she could tell him that he's mistaken so that he can walk out the door relieved and shoulders unburdened of guilt. But she can't, and when he returns within the week with Hisagi-fukutaichou in tow, Retsu feels her own guilt growing.   
  
To know that Kuchiki-taichou isn't the second victim but the actually third, makes Retsu's stomach coil into nauseated knots. It makes her wonder who else she has missed. It makes her think that she's failing those who depend on her.   
  
But most of all, it makes her angry. Furious even.  
  
Hisagi-san won't admit to anything more than a drunken encounter, but the details he does remember match perfectly. So familiar that it sends a chill down Retsu's spine and all she can think is:   
  
“They struck again.”   
  
They because she's not even sure if it's a man or a woman at this point. She can't be positive either way. There's nothing left behind to identify the perpetrator. Despite Hisagi-san's insistence that it was a woman, Retsu can't be certain. At this point, she knows Hisagi-san will tell himself whatever it takes to shove the matter into the past.   
  
She doesn't have the heart to force him to face the truth. She can't see where it will help, only do more harm. So she lets it lie, lets him believe that he'd drunk himself silly and made an unfortunate choice in a single night of pleasure. He seems all the better for it, and of the known victims, Retsu thinks that Hisagi-san will recover the fastest.   
  
A part of her is relieved for that. The other half is filled with a vicious fury that such recovery is needed in the first place. A rage that is compounded by the fact Kira-san feels an unnecessary sense of blame. Thinking if only he had been watching his senpai closer, if only he hadn't chosen that night to let go.   
  
Retsu tries to reassure him, to help him understand. But when he firms his jaw in that stubborn manner – one that interestingly enough echoes Hisagi-san's own resolve – she sighs to herself and stops pressing. If anything, she knows that Kira-san will be more vigilant now.   
  
She hates that it has come to this.   
  
Too much time has passed for Retsu to conduct a thorough investigation. There's no evidence left behind in his bedroom, and his friends were also intoxicated that night. They recall drinking, how they got home, and who they had brought with them but can't remember anything of their companions' deeds.   
  
Ayasegawa-san, the only one to ever seem unfazed by alcohol, apologizes; he has no explanation either. He’d actually been taking care of Madarame-san, who apparently consumed one sake bottle too many. By the time the fifth-seat had returned to their raucous table, Hisagi-san was already gone.   
  
Retsu has to admit with a growing disgust that this criminal is intelligent. Crafty, stealthy and smart enough to plan. To wait until the proper moment. To leave no trace. To do it in such a manner that the only witnesses won't remember come morning. It makes her physically ill. She wants nothing more than to catch the perpetrator with her own two hands and make them suffer in return.   
  
Three times is a pattern, one that Retsu can no longer keep to herself. Three times and she knows the criminal will strike again. Now, it's only a matter of time.   
  
o0o0o  
  
The captain-commander looks tired, and the news Retsu has to give only makes him seem even older. He puffs on his pipe – a loathsome habit Retsu has long since stopped trying to convince him to surrender – and doesn't bother to hide the troubled gleam in his eyes.   
  
“A captain and a lieutenant assaulted in less than two months and our very own substitute Shinigami as well,” he says and shakes his head with disgust. “This is worrisome indeed.”   
  
Retsu inclines her head, hands folded demurely in her lap. “Whoever this is, they know what they’re doing. They take advantage of gaps in attention, and the drug only facilitates this. They haven't left any evidence, save for the details that connect all three men.”   
  
“Do you have any suspects?”   
  
By the gods does she wish she did.   
  
“Only an endless list. I've no way to narrow it down either.” She sighs, knowing that the captain-commander is one of the few she can show her true feelings on this matter. “All three incidences occurred while the men were in public places surrounded by others. It's almost improbable that it could’ve happened at all unless you're familiar with the effects of the drug.”   
  
Yamamoto-sensei's eyes are distant as he looks out the window. A small puff of smoke rises from the pipe and curls in the air.   
  
“What do you suggest?”  
  
“Tell the other captains,” she says and hopes that encouraging a better awareness is enough. “Keep names private, of course, but let everyone know that something is happening and that they should keep a close eye on their subordinates. Maybe we'll get lucky. Maybe they'll make a mistake.”   
  
He shakes his head. “I don't like the idea of waiting until they strike again,” he responds gruffly, though his tone is resigned. “Do you want a task force to investigate?”   
  
“Without revealing the names of those involved, that would be impossible.” Retsu exhales softly. “No, it's best that I keep this to myself and my division. Yamada-san is already involved, and once I fill my lieutenant in on the details, she can help as well.”   
  
“I'll trust your judgment on this.” Yamamoto-soutaichou lowers the pipe from his lips, eyes shifting back to her. “And I pray that you discover the name of the culprit soon. We cannot allow this to continue. And certainly not with so many outside forces breathing down our necks.”   
  
“No more than I, sir. No more than I,” Retsu finishes, voice quiet as her own failures sit heavily on her shoulders.   
  
o0o0o  
  
Retsu is as vague as she can possibly be, while still remaining informative. She informs her fellow captains that something is causing memory loss among the ranks. She warns them to be wary, to keep a closer eye on their subordinates. She encourages them to report anyone who experiences a night of amnesia to the fourth division.   
  
She hopes and prays that the increased vigilance is enough. Either to bring forth an answer or to cause the perpetrator to wise up and cease their despicable actions.   
  
Retsu makes it a point to not look in Kuchiki-taichou's direction. And later, he inclines his head out of gratitude. She's more than pleased to notice that he's meeting with Kurosaki-san afterward for lunch; their friendship has only grown with the last several weeks. Kurosaki-san actually visits Soul Society now, Retsu is glad to discover. But he'll only drink what he's retrieved for himself, and he only stays at the Kuchiki manor, much to the chagrin of his other friends.  
  
Frankly, Retsu can't blame him for his caution. It's perfectly warranted.   
  
She hates that there's nothing more she can do. That she's hit a dead end in all her investigations. That she knows they’re going to strike again. She knows the perpetrator has tasted victory three times, that he or she is confident in their abilities and won't hesitate to try again.   
  
And Retsu can only hope that by then she's put all the pieces of the puzzle together and put this bastard in shackles where he or she belongs. Or if she can get away with it, six feet under in an unmarked grave.  
  
Whichever comes first.   
  
*****


	5. Chapter 5

“Matsumoto-san?”   
  
By the gods, she hopes that her voice isn't shaking as much as she thinks it is. She curls her fingers into fists to keep from trembling, and she hopes her eyes aren’t still red from holding back the tears.  
  
“Can I talk to you?” she adds a second later and fights the urge to flinch when the older woman looks her over.  
  
The vice-captain blinks, looking honestly surprised by the request. But she nods anyway.   
  
“Sure,” Matsumoto says and steps back, pushing the door open further. “Come on in.”   
  
Rukia resists the urge to wring her hands together, no matter how much she wants to. It's not going to help things, and she's stronger than this. She is. She survived the seventy-eighth district of Rukongai after all.   
  
This is nothing to lose control over.   
  
Rukia repeats these words to herself over and over as she follows Matsumoto down the cluttered hallway of the lieutenant’s apartment and into a vaguely messy room that smells faintly floral. There are comfortable cushions scattered across the floor, and Rukia sinks into one gratefully, unable to fight the shiver that races down her spine. She feels like she hasn't been able to get warm since...  
  
Since going to the meeting for the Shinigami Women’s Association last night and waking up in Rukongai that morning. All without a fucking clue as to how she had gotten there and why she was naked.   
  
“Sake?”   
  
Rukia shakes her head, suspecting that maybe alcohol is what got her in this situation in the first place. She doesn't remember drinking, but then, there's a lot of things Rukia doesn't remember.   
  
“No, thank you.”   
  
Matsumoto flops down into a cushion of her own, the motion somehow graceful. Even as she whips a cup out of nowhere and pours her own drink. After taking a long swig and refreshing her cup, she levels a kind look at Rukia, a silent request to start talking.   
  
“I apologize for bothering you on your day off,” Rukia begins first. Since really, if there's one thing she's learned with the Shinigami, it's that free time is to be savored, especially in Matsumoto's case. “But I couldn't think of anyone else.”   
  
At this, Matsumoto straightens, the curiosity in her eyes sliding to a wary sort of caution. There is something about her posture, however. Something very, very worried.  
  
“Whatever it is, I'll listen,” she murmurs and moves almost like she wants to touch Rukia but thinks the better of it.  
  
Rukia nods and inhales slowly; she tries to find the right words, but there aren’t any. Not for this. Her legs are folded beneath her, and her palms are resting on top of her thighs, but she's sweating so much that she has to wipe them on the fabric of her hakama. She wants to fold into herself like a child but keeps her back ramrod straight. She's a Kuchiki after all and a Shinigami; she won't let this defeat her.   
  
Even if it feels like she's failing with each passing second. Even if it means admitting something like this.   
  
“I think...”   
  
She trails off, eyes skittering away from Matsumoto as though that will make this any easier to admit. Her next breath is shaky, and the strength of her resolve is the only thing that keeps her going.   
  
“I think that I was raped.”   
  
It sounds even more terrible to admit the truth aloud, but what else can Rukia think? Her memories of the previous night are a fractured, disordered mess. She doesn't know what happened or why she woke up in Rukongai. In an unfamiliar inn. In an unfamiliar bed.   
  
She doesn't know why she woke up completely naked, her clothes folded beside her bed and her body wiped clean. The sheets smelled faintly of sex, and there were... _marks_. On her collarbone. A few on the inside of her thighs. One that resembles the press of fingers around her wrists. She keeps self-consciously tugging on the sleeves of her shihakushou, if only to hide the purple from prying eyes.   
  
Nii-sama can never know. How could she possibly tell him this? Tell him that she’d been careless and possibly drinking too much? Tell him that some man, that some _stranger_ , had forced himself on her and inside her and she couldn’t even remember his face? How could she ever tell him?  
  
There's a gasp. Rukia doesn’t need to look up to know that Matsumoto is staring at her, but she forces herself to anyway.   
  
“Are you sure?” the older woman asks. Then, she shakes her head, setting her sake off to the side, completely forgotten. “Of course you're sure,” she amends with still widened eyes. “You wouldn't have come to me if you weren't. Who was it?”   
  
The last is more of a growl, a demand, as though Matsumoto is just asking for someone to punish. She'll have to get in line. Rukia has first dibs. And then, she's pretty sure nii-sama, Renji, and Ichigo will all want to have a go.   
  
Provided that Rukia knew the identity of her encounter of course. Which she doesn't.   
  
“I don't know,” Rukia admits, and it’s halfway to a whisper. Her fingers curl and flatten against her thighs. “I can't remember anything.” She pauses, swallows thickly, and forces herself to look at Matsumoto again. “I don't know what happened.”   
  
It takes only a moment before Rukia suddenly finds herself in an embrace, and a part of her is so ridiculously grateful that all she wants to do is hold on, let go, and weep. But she doesn't. She lets herself ease into Matsumoto's comforting hold, lets some of the tension seep out of her body, but she swallows down anything resembling tears. She's stronger than that, stronger than this.   
  
If there's one thing Rukia's not going to do, it's cry. Never again. She promised herself that decades ago.   
  
_Never again._  
  
“I'm so sorry,” Matsumoto-san whispers. One hand strokes Rukia's hair, so gently she can hardly feel it at all.   
  
She's apologizing, but it's not her fault. That's just the universal response when someone shares bad news. It shouldn't make Rukia feel better, but it does. Even if she still can't stop trembling, her mind soaked with unwelcome thoughts of the faceless man who must have perched over her, touching her with strange fingers, his lips and tongue without her permission.   
  
Rukia feels ill. Her stomach churns, and acid creeps into her throat. Her fingers want to curl around Sode no Shirayuki, but there's no direction to aim her wrath, no way to make her feel safe again. The man is a mystery, and one she fears she won't be able to solve.   
  
“I didn't know what to do,” Rukia murmurs because things are different now.   
  
She's no longer a girl on her own in Rukongai with no one to tell and no one who’d care whether she lived or died. She's supposed to be safe now, but that's been shattered to dust. Rukia feels like she's been set adrift without a safe harbor.   
  
“That's why I came to you.”   
  
Matsumoto draws back, eyes searching Rukia's face. “Have you gone to the fourth yet?”   
  
Rukia just shakes her head.  
  
“Then that's the first place to start.”   
  
Rukia's gaze snaps toward Matsumoto. The idea of telling anyone else what happened is both humiliating and uncomfortable. And gods, what if they tell her brother?  
  
“I can't--”  
  
“Rukia, you have to,” Matsumoto interrupts, leaving no question in her voice. “You can't remember anything that happened. You need a healer.”   
  
The idea of someone examining her makes the disquiet in her belly grow. Her arms wrap around herself before she can convince herself to do otherwise.   
  
“They'll tell nii-sama.”   
  
“Not if we don't go to Unohana-taichou.” Matsumoto moves back into Rukia's line of sight, forcing the younger woman to meet her gaze. “Look. Isane's my friend. If we tell her not to talk, she won't. Would you be okay with that?”   
  
Rukia doesn't really see where she has any other choice.   
  
o0o0o  
  
The bruises are gone, but the memory of them remains. Kotetsu-fukutaichou is an excellent healer, but Rukia still finds herself rubbing fingers over her wrist where the bruises once were, as though desperate to remind herself they had even existed. All she wants to do is forget, but there's been far too much of that already.   
  
“Your blood results came back,” Kotetsu is saying, her eyes flicking between Matsumoto and Rukia before resting on the file in her hand once more. “I put a rush on them and made sure they were marked as anonymous.”   
  
“Thank you,” Rukia whispers, and Matsumoto's arm across her shoulders is a warm comfort that she greedily accepts. She steels herself before asking, “What do they say?”   
  
Kotetsu looks uncomfortable. Which in Rukia's world spells very bad news.   
  
“You're healthy, Kuchiki-san, but we did find traces of a substance in your system. It means you were drugged.”   
  
Rukia licks her lips with a suddenly dry tongue. “Drugged?” she repeats, a shiver tap-dancing up and down her spine. “What kind of drug?”   
  
“It makes you highly suggestible, eager to do anything someone might ask.” Kotetsu is sympathetic. But she barrels on, as though saying it quickly will ease the hell that Rukia's life has suddenly become. “Its primary side effect is an irreparable loss of memory.”   
  
Irreparable.   
  
Meaning, without an investigation, without retracing her steps, Rukia will never know what happened. Not even who. Or why. She'll never get that night back; it will forever remain a huge blank spot in the back of her mind. Forever stolen from her.   
  
She shudders, bile creeping into her throat again, and wonders if finding the nearest waste bin might be a good idea. She doesn't know if she'll be able to keep down the small meal Matsumoto encouraged her to eat earlier.   
  
Rukia closes her eyes, tries to keep a firm grasp of her control, forcing herself to breathe.   
  
“There's more, isn't there?” Matsumoto questions, and she would know. Kotetsu is her friend; she would know how to read her expressions.   
  
Rukia isn't sure she wants to know. But she opens her eyes anyway. Just in time to see Kotetsu's reluctant nod.   
  
“What is it?” she demands.   
  
Kotetsu sighs, closes the file, and tucks it under her arm. “I know I said I’d keep this to myself, but at the time, I hadn't known you were drugged, Kuchiki-san. I'm required to report all cases involving that to my captain.”   
  
“ _What_?” Dear kami she hopes her voice hasn't come out as an outraged shriek. “No, you can't do that,” Rukia bursts out, heart leaping into her throat. “I don't… I can't…”   
  
She can't seem to form words. Not when her body wants to forget how to breathe. Rukia clamps her mouth shut, reminding herself to be calm.   
  
She can handle this. She can do this; she can recover. It's not the end of the world. Is it so much to ask to let the rape fade quietly into the past though? To let her handle it at her own pace? She doesn't want anyone else to know, least of all nii-sama. And she knows good and well that the first thing Unohana-taichou will do is tell him.   
  
Matsumoto squeezes Rukia's hand, a silent support. It just doesn’t help any.  
  
“You have to?” the older woman asks. “There's no way to keep this quiet?”   
  
Kotetsu shakes her head, terribly apologetic. Her face is full of misery that probably mimics Rukia's own.   
  
“I do. I'm sorry.”   
  
Rukia had thought things couldn't get worse. She'd been so very wrong.   
  
o0o0o  
  
“Please relax, Kuchiki-san.”   
  
Unohana-taichou’s voice is impossibly gentle. As though she's talking to someone she thinks is going to break at any second, and does Rukia really look that damaged?  
  
But the next thing the captain says makes her breathe easier.  
  
“I'm not going to tell your brother.”   
  
Rukia exhales in a big rush. Her shoulders sag with unreasonable relief.   
  
“But,” Unohana-taichou continues with troubled eyes, “I’d highly suggest that you do so yourself.”   
  
She shakes her head so quickly that it makes her dizzy. Rukia's fingers curl around Sode no Shirayuki's hilt, wishing she'd let herself be weak and ask Matsumoto-san to accompany her. Not that it would’ve done much good. There’s nothing in this world or the next that could ease the queasy churn of her belly.  
  
Gods, what nii-sama would think of her if he ever knew? Her face must say as much since Unohana-taichou reaches forward to take her hand.  
  
“Do you honestly think he’d blame you, Kuchiki-san?” She shakes her head. “Your brother cares for you very much.”  
  
“I know, but...” Rukia can't quite put it into her words, and frustration colors her tone. “He won't understand,” she finally whispers. “He'll be angry, and I can't even begin to imagine what his reaction might be.”   
  
There's a moment of silence where Rukia hangs her head, eyes closed, and puts a tight lock on her imagination. The terrible scenarios that flash through her head aren’t helping her composure. All Rukia wants to do is go home, take a long hot bath, curl up in her bed, and surround herself in safe familiarity. The only place that could possibly be better would be the comfort of Ichigo’s closet. Safe and secure behind those doors with the pulse of his wild reiatsu all around her. Not to mention all the way in the living world and far away from whoever did this in the first place.  
  
“Kuchiki-san.”   
  
It's hard to ignore Unohana-taichou when she uses that tone. Her inflection soft and understanding, her concern highlighted by the motherly gleam in her eyes. Her voice gentle and coaxing, encouraging without demanding a thing.   
  
“Do you know why I suggested you speak with your brother?”   
  
Rukia's brow crinkles. “You think it will help?” she suggests without really knowing what else to say.  
  
Unohana-taichou sits back in her chair. She still has Rukia’s hand somehow, but the touch is light and easy.  
  
“No, Kuchiki-san. It’s because several months ago, Kuchiki-taichou almost died after ingesting the very same drug that was found in your system today.”   
  
Her breath catches in her throat. Nii-sama? Really?   
  
“They were trying to kill me, too?” she asks but can’t quite believe it.  
  
Nor does Unohana-taichou apparently.  
  
“No. I believe that the perpetrator did not intend to harm your brother. At least, this was the case for the others.”   
  
Rukia's eyes widen, and she slumps against the back of her chair. “There were others?”   
  
“As I said, I strongly suggest that you speak with Kuchiki-taichou,” Unohana-san says kindly, neither confirming nor denying Rukia's statement. “I am certain that he will not react as badly as you imagine he will. He is your brother, after all. He does love you very much.”   
  
Rukia holds her breath for a moment but nods slowly, still trying to comprehend what Unohana-taichou wants to tell her. Nii-sama was drugged, too. Did that mean he was also assaulted? That he’d been…  
  
Rukia feels her brain break. She honestly can’t believe her ears. She can’t believe it at all. Nii-sama is so strong. So unbeatable. This is… _This is outrageous_! This is insanity!  
  
This is… probably true. If it were anyone other than Unohana-taichou, Rukia would think them lying. Telling tales. But this is Unohana-taichou. She doesn’t lie. Not about something like this. And she’d never even hint at something of this magnitude if it weren’t confirmed in her mind.  
  
But it’s nii-sama! It’s Kuchiki Byakuya! Captain of the sixth division. Head of her clan. So strong. So powerful. So cautious. How could this ever have happened to him? How is it even possible?   
  
_How?_  
  
Her thoughts are like a broken record. Turning and turning over this idea. But no matter how many times it goes around in her head, she still can’t imagine this to be a reality. Unohana-taichou believes it, but this is her brother. This is someone she can trust, but nii-sama is too smart to fall of the same trick Rukia herself did. Unohana-taichou wouldn’t lie, but…  
  
But… But…  
  
But Unohana-taichou is right about at least some of it. Rukia really should talk to him. And as soon as possible. It’ll be uncomfortable, but if there's any chance that he’ll understand, Rukia is willing to face that a million times over. She doesn’t know how or even what she’ll say.   
  
And really, maybe that’s the worst part of all of this.  
  
o0o0o  
  
Matsumoto volunteers to go with her, but Rukia reassures the older woman that she'll be alright. This is something Rukia needs to do on her own. Not that she doesn't appreciate Matsumoto's support. But no one needs to know nii-sama's secret either. Especially if he suffered a similar fate to her. Especially if he wasn’t only drugged and then very ill.  
  
Nii-sama has never been particularly approachable, but this situation seems all the more nerve-wracking. Rukia's sweating bullets and feeling cold all over as she knocks on the door to his private office at the Kuchiki manor. She can't imagine telling him something like this over dinner or during one of their quiet tea sessions. Bad enough that she’s going to tell him at all.   
  
He bids her enter, and she does so with trepidation wrapping icy fingers around her lungs. She never imagined that telling nii-sama something so personal would be worse than facing off against the ninth Espada while he wore Kaien-dono's face, and yet, it is somehow.  
  
He's sitting at his desk when she enters, frowning over a piece of paper. But thankfully, he looks stronger and healthier than he has in the last few months. His skin isn’t as pale anymore, and there are no longer circles underneath his eyes. She supposes that Ichigo has been badgering him again to eat more. Still, he’s too thin for her own comfort. Much thinner than he was at this time last year.  
  
If Rukia had needed another further reason to hate her rapist, she had one now.   
  
“Are you busy?” she asks, awkwardness swelling in the room so thickly that she'd be surprised if her brother doesn't feel it already.   
  
Maybe there's something else, too. Something in her tone or in the oddness of her visit that makes him put down his brush. He glances up at her, grey eyes filled with concern.  
  
“Is something the matter?”   
  
To anyone else, that would seem cold, but Rukia has learned to hear the warmth in his voice. To see the slight pinch at the corner of his mouth. To taste the flicker of worry in his reiatsu.  
  
This is her brother. He cares for her and only wants her to be safe and happy. He would never blame her. Something she tries very hard to remind herself.   
  
It mostly works.  
  
Rukia inhales slowly. “I have something to tell you.”   
  
She’s grateful that there's an extra cushion present, even if nii-sama is hardly in the habit of having visitors. Though Ichigo has been spending an awful lot of time with him as of late, and it does have a familiar edge to its energy as she settles in.  
  
Byakuya inclines his head, face perfectly blank. “I'm listening.”   
  
Her hands are in her lap, and she tangles her fingers together, if only to keep them from trembling. She's practiced this speech in her head since she first decided to tell him. It feels like ages ago, like years, even if barely a few hours have gone by. Still, the words are jumbled together, threatening to spill free in a frenzied and senseless mess.   
  
This is her brother. He cares for her. Loves her even. Really, he does. He may never have said so aloud, but Unohana-taichou believes it. And maybe a big part of Rukia does, too.  
  
“Nii-sama… I…”  
  
But this is so hard. Harder even than admitting it to Matsumoto. Than admitting it to herself as she stared at the bruises darkening her skin.  
  
“I…”  
  
The words are thick and heavy on her tongue. Weighted on her soul.  
  
“Rukia,” her brother interrupts before she can try again, and it’s perhaps the gentlest she's ever heard his voice. The softest she’s seen his eyes since he told her of his wife. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I will listen.”  
  
It’s almost imploring. Not quite begging but more than a request. And she can see the worry that now etches the lines of his forehead.  
  
Rukia swallows. Her fingers rub over her wrist. There is nothing left to do but to speak. There's no way to treat this delicately or make it any easier.   
  
She can do this.   
  
“Nii-sama… last night, after my meeting, I woke up in Rukongai. I… I don’t know how I got there,” Rukia confesses in a rush, unable to hold her brother’s gaze as the truth spills out. “I don’t remember anything. Not a thing from the time we met for dinner to this morning. But judging by the evidence, I'm pretty sure that… that I was raped.”   
  
She doesn't look at him. She just gives in to the urge to twist her fingers together, as the weighted silence seems to crash down over her shoulders, pulling her under. Nii-sama doesn't speak, doesn't say anything, and Rukia just wants to scream at him to say something, anything to break to the horrible silence.   
  
Reiatsu threads into the room, just a tiny curl but strong enough to make the walls tremble. Her brother is as still as death and twice as horrible in that moment. As terrible as staring up into Aizen’s dead eyes and knowing that he plans to kill her, to destroy her utterly, and that he doesn’t care.   
  
But all of nii-sama’s glacial fury is directed elsewhere. It doesn’t even touch her at all.  
  
“Who?” he demands in a tone so cold that she expects ice to rime the walls and tinkle across the floor like fine glass. “Who did this to you?”  
  
“I-I don't know.” She shakes her head because she can tell that he's murderous; she's just unsure who is going to bear the force of it. “I can't remember. Unohana-taichou says… She says that's because of a drug that was used on me.”  
  
If anything, this is even worse. He just sits there looking out and seeing nothing.  
  
“Impossible,” Byakuya breathes.  
  
Rukia's head snaps up out of sheer disbelief. Her jaw threatens to drop; her heart stutters in her chest.   
  
“It's not,” she bites out and feels her belly lurch. “I really don't--”  
  
Byakuya jerks out a hand. Which effectively stops her mid-sentence. Rukia only watches as he slowly pulls his free fingers away from his desk, knuckles still white.   
  
“No, I believe you,” he begins carefully, softly. “I merely… I meant…” He gazes down at her, and his eyes say everything that he can’t. He looks at her as if all his nightmares have suddenly come true. “It just seems so impossible that we’ve suffered the same thing.”   
  
But… It can’t… She doesn’t…  
  
Rukia feels the world wobble. It makes so much sense.  
  
Lately, he’s been so… well, not quiet. Nii-sama is always quiet. But he’s been off. Different since his illness. Since he was poisoned – _drugged_ , a voice whispers – and nearly died. And not just in deciding that Ichigo’s suddenly his best friend. Truth be told, Rukia’s actually rather relieved for that last part. Relieved that her brother finally has a real friend.  
  
But it hasn’t made sense before. And now, it does. So very much. So painfully much.  
  
Rukia feels sick to her stomach. Feels as though the world’s been yanked out from underneath her. Like it’s spinning around and around and leaving her behind. Even more so when things shift in her mind.   
  
Nii-sama. Ichigo. Suddenly and unexpectedly friends. Others, as Unohana-taichou implied. More victims. Someone else. Someone besides her brother and her.  
  
Her brain goes to Ichigo. To his odd behavior since his last birthday. To going months without visiting Soul Society. To being almost uneasy in his own skin. To the odd way Ichigo looks at anyone outside his closest friends and those he trusts implicitly.  
  
She isn’t quite certain what happens next. Rukia just knows that she’s losing her very small lunch in her brother’s waste basket and that he’s kneeling down next to her. He holds her hair back from her face the entire time it takes her to stop retching and even gives her a handkerchief afterwards. She wipes her mouth but doesn’t look at him. She’s too afraid of what she might find. Afraid that he’s just as broken as she feels.  
  
“I have failed you,” he murmurs then, and pain flutters briefly across his entire being before it's carefully shuttered away. “I’ve failed you yet again. Yet another failure on top of all the others. If I had only stopped it myself, this would’ve never happened to you.”   
  
Her fingers fist in the cloth of her hakama as her head snaps up. Disbelief makes her rock forward until their knees touch.   
  
“No, nii-sama. I don't blame you at all. I didn't...” Rukia sucks in a breath. “Why would I? How could I? He almost killed you! This man… this rap--” She shook her head. “You almost died!”  
  
She can see when her brother bites back his retort. His shoulders are squared, back stiff. But his eyes say it all as they always do. Rage, sorrow, guilt, regret. Rukia’s nearly frozen in place as she watches them skim across the surface, but she finds that she can finally breathe when she sees a new emotion emerge. The worst possible one.  
  
Self-loathing.  
  
“It isn’t your fault, nii-sama,” she states, and her tone is absolutely final. A voice she’s never dared use on him before. “It isn’t your fault. And it… it isn’t mine either. It happened. Now, it’s over.” Her fingers reach for his sleeve. “I want it to be over.”  
  
He stares at her in silence for what feels like an eternity. He wants to believe her. Rukia wants to believe it, too. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s all they need.  
  
They don’t hug. She’s his sister, and he’s her brother. But it’s always been a line that isn’t crossed. An awkwardness of their interactions. A wall that hasn’t fallen.  
  
But somehow, her arms wind around his waist then and her head finds its way to his shoulder and she just breathes in his scent. And somehow, even better, he pulls her closer.  
  
*****


	6. Chapter 6

It's late. Or far too early depending on how one looks at it. Most of Retsu's division has gone home for the night, but she remains, poring over and over pages of notes and interviews and materials, looking for the one clue she may have missed. The one vitally important piece of information that will tie everything together and set her on a path of justice.   
  
But no matter how much she looks at the same words, they never change. And now, her vision is swimming. It turns the carefully inked characters a dark blur.   
  
Retsu sighs and puts down the most recent document, one which gives Kuchiki Rukia's account of her assault, and rubs her aching temple with her fingers. She can't help feeling personally responsible. Retsu knows she should’ve solved things by now. Four assaults and she doesn't have a shred of evidence linking any one person to the crimes.   
  
_Four._   
  
The number rings in the back of her head, reminding Retsu of her failures. Four of them. Kuchiki-taichou nearly died.   
  
Her free hand curls around her teacup, significantly cooled after being all but forgotten in favor of deeper studying, and Retsu lifts it to her lips. She sips at the fragrant tea and knows she has to leave the office soon. Sleep can only help her at this point, though she can't help feeling it's time wasted. Time she could be spending tracking down the perpetrator and putting an end to this pattern of violence.   
  
Lowering the cup and her hand, Retsu resolves to leave her office for the day. If only because she's getting no further work done by sitting here and staring dully at her own increasingly incomprehensible notes.   
  
She rises from her desk with a creak of limbs that she promptly ignores. Retsu is not and will never be old, but sometimes, the years try to pretend that she is.   
  
She reaches for her haori, abandoned in the wake of a sticky, spring night. She pulls it over her shoulders with slow movements that belie just how exhausted she truly feels. Yet, just as she’s heading for the door and reaching to cut out the light, a jigokuchou floats in through her open window.   
  
As black wings flutter madly toward her in a burst of quiet reiatsu, Retsu's heart sinks into her belly. She turns, lifts her hand, and allows the jigokuchou to rest on her finger. Its message immediately spills to her in a flood of emotions and words. Worry is most prevalent. As is a need for haste. And it jumbles together in a fine mess of panic.   
  
There is enough, however, for Retsu to understand. Ukitake-taichou is in need of her assistance, per Kyouraku-san's desperate request, and it's not something that can wait until the morning. Retsu dearly hopes he hasn’t had another episode; the last one was only a few weeks ago and he deserves much more rest than this.   
  
She inclines her head, whispering a soft reply to the jigokuchou, and watches as it alights from her finger to carry the message back. Even though Retsu takes a moment to gather supplies, things needed in the best and the worst case scenarios for Ukitake-san, she’ll still beat it there.   
  
Once she’s convinced she is prepared, she leaves from her office in a flit of shunpo, her feet taking her on an all-too-familiar path. Sometimes, Retsu swears she can better find Ukitake-san's home than her own.   
  
Kyouraku-san greets her by the door like a worried sailor’s wife whose husband has been too long out at sea. His eyes are both wide and dark, concern pouring through his voice, and his is reiatsu a disturbed jitter.   
  
“There's something wrong with Jyuushiro.”   
  
“So I gathered,” she says and tries for a reassuring smile, a touch of humor that this situation usually warrants. Anything to ease the tension.   
  
However, it falls flat when Kyouraku-san's mouth doesn't even twitch toward amusement, and Retsu belatedly realizes that perhaps she’s mistaken. That maybe this has nothing to do with Ukitake-san's illness. She can count on her fingers the number of times she has heard Kyouraku-san refer to his best friend by his only given name, and each and every one of those situations had been desperate indeed. The last was the same night that Shiba Kaien died, and that memory sends a stab of dread straight to her spine.  
  
Retsu pinches her lips together, berates herself for sounding so callous, and tightens her hold on her medical bag. “What's wrong? Has he stopped breathing?”   
  
The other captain, usually so well put together and composed but now looking ragged in a hastily thrown on robe over his sleeping clothes, shakes his head. He chuckles, but it’s a bitter sound and not at all amusement.   
  
“How terrible is it of me that I wish that were the case? That, at least, I know how to fix.”   
  
But his voice is thick with bitterness and something altogether like frozen fury. It draws her up short, but before she can reply the low sound of coughing floats to Retsu's ears. Ukitake-san undoubtedly. But it sounds no harsher or wetter than usual. Nothing that would cause this much concern in his closest and dearest companion.   
  
“What is it then?” she questions, surprised when Kyouraku-san leads her to his permanent room here as opposed to Ukitake-san's own.   
  
Here, he stops outside the door, angling his body to face hers. His expression pulls into an unusual seriousness. One that barely masks his anger.  
  
“I came back from the celebration – you know, in honor of Abarai-kun's promotion to captain? And I heard odd noises coming from Jyuu-chan's room. I went to check on him.”  
  
Retsu begins to feel a low curl of alarm in her chest; she suspects that this has nothing to do with Ukitake-san's illness at all. But the alternative is even worse.  
  
“And?” she prompts but fears she can already guess where this is headed.   
  
“He was naked, Retsu,” he states, eyes boring into hers. “Jyuu-chan never sleeps naked, even in the summer. He gets cold too easily.” His hands curl into fists. “And at first, he wouldn't even wake up. He kept trying to fall back asleep. Almost like he was on one of those medicines you give him sometimes.”   
  
“Perhaps he had a friend over?” Retsu suggests, hoping that her optimism is warranted. She would hate to jump to conclusions. Even if it seems they are leaping in front of her face with arms waving wildly for attention.   
  
Kyouraku-san's lips curl into the faintest edge of a smile. “Believe me, Retsu, you’ve no idea how much I wish that were the case.” He inhales deeply and rakes a hand over his hair, fingers tangling in disordered curls. “But you know how he is, and he's not dating anyone right now. Hasn’t for a long, long time.”   
  
“What about reiatsu? Did you sense anyone?” Retsu asks, suddenly desperate for details, for anything that provides the link and the answer she needs.   
  
“No.” There's a touch of disgust to Kyouraku-san's tone, disgust with himself mostly. “They were very good at masking themselves. If not for the noises, I wouldn’t even have known. He or she was gone by the time I got to the room. Probably out the window.”   
  
Out the window. Perhaps there are footprints in the rain-soaked soil of the garden outside Ukitake-san's bedroom, but Retsu doubts it. Any Shinigami would’ve used a flit of shunpo and avoided touching the ground. This criminal is too smart to leave such an obvious clue behind. Still, Retsu will look; it can’t hurt. Not at this point.   
  
Chills wash over Retsu's body with that thought. Her fingers tighten around the straps of her medical bag, but she stamps down everything but her professional objectiveness. These are her friends and have been for millennia. But she needs to focus, to keep a level head.  
  
“Is he awake now?” Retsu steels her shoulders to the weight of a crime unsolved, a crime that had now claimed another victim.   
  
“He fades in and out.” Kyouraku-san’s eyes get a distant look as he gazes in the direction of his room. “I redressed him; he was starting to get cold. I...” He shakes his head, lips firming. “He has bruises, Retsu. Small things, something that would’ve healed by dawn. Light scores on his belly and a couple random, smaller bruises on his thighs and arms.”   
  
Her stomach churns. Ukitake-san's skin does tend to show marks easier. Much like that of Kuchiki Rukia.   
  
“But that's not the worst of it.”   
  
Retsu's eyes jerk up. There couldn't possibly be worse, could there.   
  
“Was something missing?”   
  
It’s barely a whisper. Like she doesn’t dare be louder.  
  
“You could say that,” Kyouraku-san admits, face hardening as he lifted his hand, gesturing to his own head. “They cut his hair, Retsu. Not a lot of it. But enough… enough for a souvenir.”   
  
Like Hisagi-san's picture then. Only a lot more personal this time. Retsu feels the disgust within her mix with something else, something a lot like wrath this time. How dare they? Bad enough that they rob Ukitake-san of his memories and touch him without consent. But to be so bold as to take a trophy from the man. That, along with everything else, cannot be forgiven.   
  
Retsu's lips firm. “That is unforgivable,” she says emphatically and knows that Kyouraku-san agrees completely.   
  
Hair will regrow, yes. But the fact that it was done is what matters here.   
  
Bruises will heal. Hair will grow. But the memories will never return. None of the victims have been physically harmed – Retsu remains convinced that Kuchiki-taichou's reaction is an unintentional accident. But the perpetrator obviously thought nothing of the mental scarring.   
  
“Why do you think I moved him from his room?” Kyouraku-san comments with a shake of his head. “I didn't want him to have to stay in his bed. Not if… Not if it really happened how I think it did.”   
  
“I understand.” Her hand finds his arm and squeezes. “Shall I take a look at him?”   
  
Kyouraku-san gestures her ahead of him. “Please,” he replies and opens the door for her as another low cough spills into the tense silence.   
  
She enters ahead of him and takes only a brief moment to notice how the décor matches Kyouraku-san very well. While she has on numerous occasions been called over, she's never had reason to visit Kyouraku-san's bedroom here.   
  
Ukitake-san is on the futon, dressed in one of his pale sleep robes and under a blanket. His eyes are closed, but as she approaches, they open very slowly as though it’s a great struggle.   
  
“Ukitake-san?” Retsu calls as she drops to kneel at his bedside.  
  
He's faintly feverish, but that could be more a result of his illness than the circumstances. His eyes are bleary and unfocused, but if he's been drugged like all the others, then he hasn't had as much time to sleep it off. She doesn’t know if that’s better or worse in this case. Perhaps even a bit of both.  
  
“Retsu-chan,” he sighs in greeting, voice thick with sleep. “I told Shun he could wait until morning.” His eyes slip closed again, but his breathing doesn't even out. Maybe keeping them open requires too much energy.   
  
Behind her, the other man snorts. “Like hell, Jyuu. I told you Retsu would understand. This is serious.”   
  
Ukitake-san's face contorts with a mixture of shame and humiliation, though he keeps his eyes closed. “I’m unharmed, Shun. It's just my pride that has taken a beating.”   
  
“I'm not talking about your physical state, you noble idiot,” Kyouraku-san berates gently, but worry thickens his tone. Make his hands shake just a little as he kneels on his friend’s other side.  
  
A soft cough is the answer Ukitake-san gives as Kyouraku-san inches past Retsu to drape another blanket over his best friend. He still leans into the brunet’s touch though, but it may be unconscious. She can’t be sure either way.  
  
“He’s right, Ukitake-san,” Retsu inserts, her insides a twisted knot of complicated emotions that she knows she won't be able to unwind anytime soon. “You've been drugged, and that's no mere matter.”   
  
“Drugged?” Kyouraku-san repeats, and if the other man heard her, he gives no sign of it. Or maybe he's leaving the surprise to his friend, preferring to save his energy for something else.   
  
Retsu nods, turning toward her bag and drawing forth a small kit she crafted a couple weeks ago. Retsu is no inventor or scientist like Urahara-san or even Kurotsuchi, but she can do well on certain things. And this situation warranted a privacy that meant she couldn't go to either for help.   
  
“I believe so.” She tenderly extracts one of Ukitake-san's arms from his silk cocoon. “Though this will confirm my suspicions. Tell me, Kyouraku-san, did he seem unusually clean when you found him?”   
  
The brunet clears his throat. “If you mean aside from the almost anal-like cleanliness that Jyuu-chan usually insists upon, then yes. He doesn't normally bathe before bed. It takes too long to dry his hair.”  
  
“And his clothes. Were they neatly folded?” She gently pricks Ukitake-san's forefinger, drawing free several drops of blood, which she then guides onto the small strip of absorbent paper of her own design.  
  
There's a moment of quiet before Kyouraku-san shifts closer, eyes watching her. “Retsu, why am I getting the feeling that this situation isn’t entirely unfamiliar to you? Does this have to do with what you said at the meeting last month?”   
  
Her hands carefully guide the bloodied strip into another small vial, this one containing a colorless liquid. As the paper sinks into the chemical and a bright orange blossoms into being, Retsu's heart sinks lower. All the way to her ankles and through to the floor.  
  
“A little too familiar, Kyouraku-san,” she answers as she swallows by the bile in her mouth and shows him the results of her test. “I can confirm this better at the fourth, but it’s around ninety percent accurate. Ukitake-san has definitely been drugged. I'm afraid that come tomorrow, he probably won't even remember this conversation or my presence here tonight.”   
  
Kyouraku-san exhales in a bluster. “Someone drugged him,” he repeats, voice flat, though the rage coiling in his reiatsu is a testament to his true reaction. “How? How did this happen?”   
  
“That is what I’d like to know.”   
  
Retsu leans toward Ukitake-san again, one hand cupping his cheek. She uses a soft pulse of power, warm and soothing. Hoping that might chase away the effects of the drug, even if only temporarily.   
  
“Ukitake-san?” she calls. “Are you awake?”   
  
He stirs. “If you want me to be,” he mutters drowsily, eyes still closed. It would be cute, if not for the situation.   
  
“What happened, Jyuu?” Kyouraku-san asks before Retsu can get a word in edgewise.   
  
“I don't know,” the other man replies with words slurring together as he fights off the need to sleep. “I don't remember, Shun. Ask me tomorrow.”   
  
Retsu winces. “Tomorrow will be too late. I need you to remember now. Can you do that?”   
  
His eyes flutter but don’t open.   
  
“Can you do that, Jyuushiro?” she repeats and sends out another pulse.  
  
His eyes crack open, but his pupils are largely unfocused. Not for the first time does Retsu lament that such a powerful drug was ever invented. Sure, it has proven quite useful to her a number of times. Particularly on the eleventh division. But to see it used in such a manner…  
  
Ukitake-san makes a face, like a child denied a treat. “I can try,” he allows grudgingly, and his brow furrows, tongue emerging to slide briefly across his lips. “I was at Abarai-kun's celebration. I’m very proud of him. He deserves this, you know. He really does. Such a nice boy. I remember--”  
  
“What time did you leave?” Retsu prompts to get him back on track. “Who did you leave with?”   
  
“I was alone... wasn't I?” he asks. Then his face contorts again, as though the strain of trying to remember is too much for him. “I left early. I was tired. I’m tired now. So sleepy.”   
  
Was he tired because of an actual fatigue or because of something else?   
  
Retsu wishes she knew. But it will take more blood work than what she can do here. She needs to get him to the fourth. At least, they can use the rumor that he had another fit related to his illness and be able to keep this quiet.   
  
Retsu turns toward Kyouraku-san. “You were there, weren't you?”   
  
“Yes.” He sighs heavily, and guilt washes over his features. “But I was drinking with the usual crew. I knew Jyuu had left early, but I didn't see him go with anyone. He seemed fine.” He pauses, hands sliding down his thighs as though trying to wipe his sweaty palms. “I should’ve paid closer attention.”   
  
“This is not your fault,” Retsu insists, fixing him an unwavering stare. “If anything, it’s mine for not solving this sooner.”   
  
He tilts his head to the side, too intelligent to miss her meaning. “There were others?”   
  
“Four that we know of,” Retsu admits with a slump of her shoulders. “All with similar if not exact circumstances.”   
  
Her hand goes from Ukitake-san's cheek to his hair. There, her fingers thread through the long, pale strands until they wander upon a portion that’s noticeably shorter than the rest. If he wears his hair down as usual and brushes it just so, it is likely very few will notice. But Retsu knows, and so does Kyouraku-san. And they will not forget.   
  
Something within her trembles with a righteous fury and an indignant resolution.   
  
“That's what you were warning of in the meeting then,” Kyouraku-san inserts with sudden understanding. “I can see why you were so circumspect. Though I don't think there’s anything you could’ve said to prevent this. Even after Aizen's betrayal, we’re still too trusting.”   
  
“Trust is not such a bad thing,” Retsu returns softly.  
  
She hates that it has come to this once again. That they should all watch each other with wary eyes, waiting for the knife in the back. What Aizen's deeds have shaken, this new crime is threatening to destroy all over again.   
  
The brunet inclines his head. “No, it isn't. But it can be used to their advantage.” He bites his lip until it nearly bleeds. “If only I'd come back sooner...”   
  
She reaches for him. “There's a lot of room for blame, Shunsui. But I think he’d be better helped worrying about what to do from now on, don't you?”   
  
“You're right. Of course,” Kyouraku-san admits, and his eyes fall fondly back to his best friend, who’s slipped into sleep during their conversation. “What now?”   
  
Retsu rises to her feet, brushing down the wrinkles in her haori. “For now, I'll ask that you help me take him to the fourth where I can run some more tests. But first, I'd like to have a look at his room. Perhaps there are some clues that will lead me to the criminal. I suspect that your arrival interrupted them.”  
  
“You know where it is.” Kyouraku-san stands as well, looking all the more relieved for having something to do rather than sitting in anxious worry. “Thank you, Retsu.”   
  
She squeezes his arm, hoping to provide even the smallest measure of comfort. He needs it now more than ever.  
  
o0o0o  
  
Ukitake-san's room is exceptionally neat, as always. The fragrance of tea is a lingering scent, but there is something underlying it as well, a musky odor that hints of sex. An odor that no doubt would’ve dissipated by the morning.   
  
Retsu frowns, her jaw setting with revulsion. She hadn't needed the olfactory confirmation, but it’s there nonetheless.   
  
Ukitake-san's bedcovers are disturbed, likely because Kyouraku-san had thrown them aside and paid little attention to where they fell afterward. His clothes, haori and all, are neatly folded on an end table. A careful stack that implies concern and tidiness. Something else to mark on a mental list of details that match the previous crimes.   
  
This is her closest chance to find a real clue, and Retsu will be damned if she lets it slip past. She can't – and won't – allow another victim. Even if she has to swear off sleep until she finds the perpetrator.   
  
She approaches the futon first, after thoroughly scanning the floor to make sure she won't step over any important piece of evidence. Retsu searches through the blanket and sheets, hoping to find a scrap of fabric or a single hair or something that might prove helpful. But either they somehow found time to clean the bedcovers or they had wisely removed the sheets beforehand.   
  
Ukitake-san's clothes are much the same. The only hairs she finds belong to him. There is nothing absolutely unique about how they are folded either. Retsu doesn't have any other references to compare them to because she never had a chance to examine the clothes of the other victims.   
  
She still can't decide if this action is intentional. Or if they don't even realize they are doing it and leaving behind an important clue to link all of the assaults together. Retsu knows that the criminal is smart, smart enough to get rid of all physical evidence, so it's hard to say why they’d choose to leave such an obvious link.   
  
Then again, if they didn't want their victims to know what had happened, why let them wake nude? Why let them wake in unfamiliar places? Why leave them in such a way that they will always be marked by a nauseating dread of the unknown?   
  
Retsu sighs and rises to her feet. She looks around the room once more. There doesn't seem to be anything here either. Not a single shred of evidence.   
  
“Retsu?” Kyouraku-san fills the open doorway as he glances in on her.   
  
“Is he ready to go?” she questions as she turns to him.  
  
“He's still not really conscious, so I'll carry him,” Kyouraku-san replies, and he looks hopeful. “Any luck?”   
  
“Not a damn thing,” Retsu says and knows that her curse is out of character, but she honestly can't imagine a better suited response. “It's like this is a ghost.”   
  
The unintended pun is almost enough to curve Kyouraku-san's lips, but it fails halfway there.  
  
“No way to track this at all?”   
  
“They hid their reiatsu too well,” Retsu is forced to admit. “This is so frustrating. You’ve no idea how much energy I've put into finding them. How many hours I've spent staring at the facts, what little of them there are.”  
  
“I have some clue,” Kyouraku-san says very quietly. “You look more exhausted now than you did cleaning up after Aizen's last attack.”   
  
Another loathsome memory that Retsu would rather bury. Even if she must admit that Kyouraku-san is right.   
  
She inclines her head. “At least then, I had an enemy I could see. A face that I could direct my anger.” Retsu bites back another sigh. “I'll be there in a moment, Kyouraku-san. I just want to check the window.”   
  
“That'll give Jyuushiro a bit longer to sleep then.” The man nods. “We'll be waiting in my room.”   
  
He turns away, padding down the hallway, and Retsu shifts toward the window. She pushes open the shutters and peers into a dull morning. The sun hasn’t yet begun to peek over the horizon, but the sky is lightening. It's approaching dawn on what should’ve been a beautiful day.   
  
Shaking her head, Retsu peers down at the garden bed. But as she suspected, there are no footprints to be found. Not even in soil softened by the rain. Retsu draws back, closes the shutters, and tries to quell rising sensation of disappointment. She can't help feeling as if she has failed, and the weight of it settles on her shoulders.   
  
She heads to the doorway, conceding defeat, when a desperate and hopeful thought floats to the forefront of her mind.   
  
Kyouraku-san heard movement. Which meant that he had interrupted them. There is still a chance that something was forgotten. Kyouraku-san hadn't been able to sense their reiatsu, but maybe… maybe something was left behind. Maybe they weren’t able to be as thorough as in all their other victims.   
  
Closing her eyes, Retsu concentrates, blanketing the room in a soft layer of her reiatsu, trying to trace the presence of others in immobile objects. Obviously, Ukitake-san's energy pulses from nearly every item in the room. It's a soft, subtle hum in the walls, floors, and bedding from centuries spent sleeping in the same room.   
  
There's something else. A tiny speck of off-rhythm pulsing that's out of sync with Ukitake-san's reiatsu. An object that belongs to someone else and has since soaked up their energy.   
  
Retsu's eyes pop open. She lets her senses guide her to the dresser and the gap beneath it, where there is an inch of space between the floor and the furniture. She kneels, sliding a hand under, until it brushes across an item that sits against the wall. Likely kicked there by accident. By someone not paying attention to their feet in their hurry to leave.   
  
It's smooth, smaller than a marble, and when Retsu pulls it out, her eyes widen to ridiculous levels. Her heart stops for a beat, as though it’s forgotten how.   
  
It's a small golden bead.   
  
Retsu's fingers curl around it. The bead is oh-so-familiar to her, and she lets her eyes close for just a moment. Maybe there’s a rational explanation. Maybe she shouldn't jump to conclusions.   
  
Maybe she's wrong.   
  
By all the gods, Retsu dearly hopes she is.   
  
Retsu tucks the bead into her pocket and staggers to her feet, trying to breathe normally. For now, she'll get Ukitake-san to the fourth and finish treating him. For now, she'll focus on Ukitake-san and ignore the infinitesimal weight of the bead in her pocket. For now, she’ll pray that she is wrong.   
  
*****


	7. Chapter 7

It is past lunch by the time Retsu runs into her vice-captain. Isane has spent most the morning patching up the eleventh division from many scrapes, bruises, and sword wounds. Apparently, there was one huge bout of one-up-manship amongst them the night before, and many of their members came out much the worse for wear.

Isane looks tired. She was called in early that morning to help deal with the influx of patients since Retsu had been busy with Ukitake-san and Iemura-kun never deals very well with the eleventh. At least, not since the last time they taped a sign to his back that everyone and their brother with an intelligence smaller than a weasel's decided to obey.

"Unohana-taichou," Isane greets with a weary smile as she holds a few files to her chest. Her shoulders are hunched as always, no matter how often Retsu encourages her to stand up straight. "How is Ukitake-taichou feeling?"

Retsu bites her lip. She can't tell if it's genuine concern or something else entirely. She's made sure that Ukitake-san's presence in the fourth division is no small secret, though she has also declared it to be a result of his illness. It will be easier on his pride that way, and really, she wants to save him as much embarrassment as she can.

"It was just a small flare up," Retsu replies, trying to act casual even as her insides quiver with conflicting emotions. "But you know how Kyouraku-san is sometimes. He was very worried."

A tinge of red colors her lieutenant's cheeks. "Kyouraku-taichou cares very much for him," she agrees. "I'm glad that he's recovering. How long before he'll be well enough to return to the thirteenth?"

"By tomorrow, I imagine," Retsu says and steels herself, one hand drifting to the bead in her pocket. "Speaking of which… the last time I sent you to check up on him, how was he feeling? I know he sometimes likes to hide the smaller spells."

Her vice-captain blinks. "What are you talking about, taichou? That was weeks ago. You've done the checkups for the past month, don't you remember?"

Retsu feels the last of her hope crumble to dust. It falls like so many ashes to the pristine floor of the fourth division. A reiatsu signature wouldn't last so long, especially one treated to the constant weight of Ukitake-san's powerful energy. But there has to be another explanation. Any other explanation. Something. Anything at all. Anything to explain this away.

But there isn't, and the truth sits like a hot and heavy weight on her soul. Burning like Ryuujin Jakka and twice as terrible. Retsu wants to cry. She wants to scream at Isane. To demand the truth then and there. To force it from her and try to understand why – why, damn you! – she'd do such a horrible thing.

But Retsu does none of that. She just closes her eyes for a heartbeat and swallows down the ashes.

"Have I?" Retsu says, and she can't fight the chill in her tone. "I thought for sure that I sent you last week. Or perhaps I'm confusing you with someone else."

Isane frowns, and for the first time, a flash of discomfort flits through her gaze. There's something to the way she shifts her weight. Something telling. But Retsu can't discern what it says. She honestly doesn't care at this point.

"No, taichou. I'd remember if you had." Isane pauses and tilts her head to the side. "It's not like you to forget. Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, I'm just tired." Retsu takes in a slow, steady breath. She reaches out, gently grasps her lieutenant's free arm, and does her best to act calm. "Would you come with me please, Isane? I've paperwork that needs to be delivered and a matter we need to discuss."

She doesn't want to cause a scene. Not here in the middle of the fourth where any number of patients could bear witness or her own subordinates could see. She couldn't bear for them to watch this. For them to see what Isane has done. For them to witness what she allowed herself to become.

And maybe, just maybe she wants to shield herself from it, too. To hide the fact that she knows Isane best of all but didn't know this. Didn't see it until reality smacked her in the face and demanded that she finally pay attention.

Wariness touches Isane's eyes. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she gestures with the folders in her unoccupied arm.

"I still have patients to visit, taichou."

"I'll have Yamada-san take them over," Retsu replies firmly. "This is rather urgent. It can't wait."

For a moment, she thinks her vice-captain is going to bolt. The muscles in Isane's arms tense, and she chews on her bottom lip. But finally, she nods.

o0o0o

The silence in her office is stifling. Retsu can't completely control her emotions, and the sight of Isane sitting across from her, shoulders hunched, makes her stomach churn. It seems so much like Retsu is wrong, and maybe it's all such a big coincidence. Perhaps she's so desperate for an explanation that her mind is playing tricks. That she's jumping to conclusions.

But the bead is heavy in her pocket. More weighted than its mass should ever allow. And the truth is heavier still.

Retsu wants to be calm and rational about this. But after so many weeks – months even – of fruitlessly investigating this case, she has no more patience left within her.

"Unohana-taichou, you said you had some paperwork?"

Isane's voice breaks the silence but doesn't cut through the tension.

Retsu flexes her fingers, draws in a steady breath, and then reaches into her pocket. She pulls out the golden bead and sets it on her desk with a tiny click. In full view of Isane, it is a perfect match to the ones already decorating her small braids.

Isane just watches her movements, staring at the bead. Her expression is puzzled. Like she can't quite understand what's happening.

Retsu wishes that were genuine. But now, she doubts everything she sees with Isane. Doubts everything she knows. This woman has been her second for nearly a hundred years. Has been in her squad for almost four centuries before that. Retsu has watched her grow and mature and become lovelier every day. She's nurtured and cared for her and loved her as only a mother can. She's even entertained ideas of retiring, of giving her division over to Isane when the war is over. Isane deserves it after all, and her division would be in good hands, the best.

But maybe that's a lie, too. Retsu can no longer tell what is. Perhaps all of it. Maybe none of it.

Not knowing is worse than any perceived betrayal.

"Taichou?" Isane questions softly, so softly, too softly.

Retsu nearly crumbles then and there. Somehow, she holds together with only fine cracks.

"I found this in Ukitake-san's bedroom," Retsu says then, leaving no room for argument. "And only because I searched for reiatsu."

Isane pales, her face turning sickly and wan. "I hadn't even noticed it was missing," she comments weakly, and her hands twist together in her lap. "I must have dropped it a few weeks ago."

"Isane, you and I both know that isn't the answer to this riddle," Retsu corrects, and there is steel in her voice. She stares at Isane and asks the question that has been riding on the back of her mind ever since finding the bead. "Why? Why would you do this? Why would you ever do such a thing?"

Grey eyes fall to her lap. Isane doesn't look at her. She doesn't look at much of anything, and that says it all right there. That says everything even if Isane won't.

Retsu feels the cracks in her soul widening ever-so-slightly, and there's nothing she can do to stop it.

"Why?" she asks again, hand snapping out to grip Isane's arm. "Why do this?"

"You wouldn't understand, taichou," Isane murmurs, and it's all the admission Retsu needs to make her belly twist and her soul die with utter disbelief.

"No, I don't," Retsu agrees, her voice a fierce and forceful sound, but it's also broken. "I could never understand why you did this. Why you thought it was acceptable to do such a thing."

She shakes her head, glad that she silently put a barrier over her door. The last thing she wants is for anyone to walk in on this. The last thing she needs is for them to bear witness to her lieutenant's disgrace and Retsu's own rapid loss of control.

"This is a crime, Isane!"

"I know that," Isane retorts, and there's something fierce in her tone as well. Something that makes her eyes light with fire as she whips her eyes up. "Which is why you'll never understand why we did it. Why I had to do it."

We.

Retsu has suspected that may be more than one criminal. It almost seemed too much for one person, no matter how meticulous, to accomplish alone.

"Who?" she demands with narrowed eyes and a grip that makes her knuckles white against Isane's sleeve. "I know you didn't think of this all on your own. Who is it?"

"We did it together," Isane says with a certain degree of stubbornness. Her shoulders, for once, are straight and tall. "Don't think I'm so weak-willed I'd go along with anything. She may have come up with the plan, but I supplied the details. I knew exactly what I was doing."

Retsu is at a loss for words. There aren't words for this. For forcing someone against their will. For drugging them. For stealing hours of their life.

For sounding proud of it.

She can only stare at Isane in disbelief. She can only feel something in her tremble and die. She can only wonder where it all went wrong.

"You will tell me everything," Retsu orders then because she honestly has nothing else to say.

But for once, Isane just looks straight back at her. For decades, Retsu has tried to help her find her own inner worth. For her to realize the strength she has.

What a way for her discover it now.

o0o0o

Telling the captain-commander is hard. He stares at her. Actually stares for a full minute before taking a long and almost shaking puff from his pipe. Retsu can't tell if it's from nerves or something else though.

He doesn't even need to tell her what Isane's fate will be. She attacked two captains, a vice-captain, a member of the Kuchiki clan, and a trusted ally. The death they give her will be far more merciful than what the others would choose to do.

As for Yadomaru-san, they can't punish her on their own. Not without losing support from the Vizard at large. Retsu doesn't want to embarrass the victims even more, but she has no choice in giving the truth.

Telling Hirako-san is even harder. But she can see it in his eyes that he believes her the moment the words leave her mouth; he doesn't even need her carefully displayed evidence. It's too outrageous to be a lie, and he's never gotten anything but the truth from her in the years they've known each other. And she can tell that no small part of him is willing to believe this of his comrade. The Vizard have witnessed the worst of each other after all; Retsu only wonders if this is something he's seen from Yadomaru-san before.

Telling the victims is the worst. Kurosaki-san goes white as a sheet, and the Kuchiki siblings aren't much better off. The three of them just sit in silence until she leaves. They don't demand answers or ask any questions. They simply sit there and stare at each other as if trying to wake up from this unending nightmare. Kurosaki-san is horrified. Kuchiki-taichou is embarrassed. But Kuchiki Rukia… she merely nods as Retsu readies herself to leave. Her face is blank, but her eyes are hard.

All three of them finger their swords.

Hisagi-san doesn't want to know and seemingly doesn't care. He just asks for his picture to be returned and washes his hands of the entire mess. Kira-san is the one to ask questions, and Retsu gives him as much as she can. But it's not enough and never will be.

Ukitake-san takes it well on the surface. He's the only thing that keeps his best friend from running out of the room and seeking his vengeance, but there's a tremor to his hands. A shakiness to his smile as he serves them tea. But Retsu can practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Can see him revisiting every interaction he ever had with either woman and wondering where he went so wrong. Wondering how he could've misjudged both of them to such a large degree.

Isane has visited his house as a healer countless times before. And Yadomaru-san was attached to her captain's hip when she still served him. Retsu wouldn't be surprised if she'd once had her own room in Ukitake-san's house.

Kyouraku-san though… It's awful for him. As horrible as it was for Retsu. Neither of them are the victims here. But it feels like they are. Yadomaru-san was to him as Isane is to her. Someone trusted and well-loved. Something of a daughter, though their ways of showing it differ. Even worse, Kyouraku-san's best and dearest friend, his closest comrade and partner, was harmed in the process. He vacillates between fury and despair heading into guilt. He clearly doesn't know what to do. He wants revenge, recompense for this crime. But at the same time, he knows that he'll never be able to claim it.

That only leaves their two perpetrators. Kotetsu Isane and Yadomaru Lisa. Both will be punished in secret by their own groups. It's the only way to keep from dragging the victims through the mud. The only way to keep Seireitei from falling apart at the seams.

Hirako-san will deal with Yadomaru-san. Isane is left to her captain.

o0o0o

One day, Retsu and her lieutenant go out into Rukongai. Only Retsu comes back. She tells no one the truth of what happened, but the captain-commander knows, and it's clear that the others involved in this debacle do, too. They don't ask, don't question, but their relief is clear to anyone who knows to look.

Isane is proud until the end. She doesn't beg. She doesn't plead. She just looks out over the meadow that Retsu has chosen as her grave. It's beautiful here. Full of flowers and the scent of the distant pine trees on the wind. The silence stretches between them for what could be hours, and Isane doesn't look at her until she moves to unsheathe Minazuki.

"I'm sorry, taichou."

Retsu looks at her for a heartbeat. She thinks to say something. To tell Isane that she loves her. That she will think of her always. That she's forgiven.

She says none of it.

"I'm sorry," Isane repeats, but there are no tears in her eyes.

Not as there are in Retsu's own as she swings Minazuki. Her strike is clean and true, and she spends the rest of the day digging Isane's grave by hand. Her eyes remain moist, but her face stays dry the entire time. She doesn't stop working until her task is complete and she stares at the freshly turned earth surrounded by flowers that glow in the dying sunlight.

"No…" Retsu finally whispers. "You're not."

Then, she walks away.

Somehow, she makes it back to Seireitei and to her room, but Retsu honestly can't recall how. She just accepts it as truth and crawls into her bed fully clothed, and there, she weeps so hard that she can't breathe. Cries until there are no more tears and she can only lie there in the dark.

A week later, Yamada Hanatarou is promoted to the second seat of her division. They share a drink in her office, and he actually dares give her a hug before he leaves. That night is the first one since Isane died that she doesn't cry herself to sleep.

o0o0o

For Shinji, this could quite easily be the worst day of his life. At the very least, it ranks up there with being turned into a half-Hollow monster and then spending agonizing weeks trying to regain his normal good looks. It's certainly worse than the day that he made Aizen his vice-captain and ranks right up there with the evening Hiyori kicked him in the privates right before his hot date with Ichigo's cute little friend.

He walks her out to a spot in the middle of nowhere, a place he might not even be able to find again. He wonders if Kisuke has even noticed that he took the power-binding cuffs. Shinji hopes not. Too many questions to answer that way. He's already had to hedge on the truth to the rest of their group too much as is. He tells them the barest facts and names no names, only says that Ichigo had been hurt in the process.

Hiyori, Rose, and Love don't want to believe him, not when it's a Shinigami's word versus that of Lisa. Kensei is oddly silent on the matter, but his eyes are a tad too astute. Mashiro believes from the outset, as does Hachi. Those two both know firsthand how nasty Lisa can be. So does Shinji. He was the one to see her conquer her Hollow. Saw what she'd tried to do while under its influence. He doubts she remembers much, if any, of it. But he knows Kisuke still has the marks and that he's always very careful not to show her his back. Even decades later.

He wants to believe that it really was an accident. But Shinji always had his doubts. It seems like they've only been confirmed.

The pair of them walks until Shinji finally thinks they've gone far enough. He hasn't said anything the entire time, and Lisa has only whistled. For the rest of his life, he'll never think of that song the same way. A shame since it's his favorite. But the bitch probably knows that.

"Ready?" he asks as he reaches for Sakanade.

Shinji isn't sure if he'll need shikai or even bankai to finish this. It's hard to say with all the weird shit going on with their kind. He isn't even sure he's strong enough to kill her cleanly either. Which will definitely make this day suck even worse for the both of them.

"Ready?" Lisa repeats it back like she didn't understand the question. "Does it matter?"

He won't play this game with her. He won't.

"We've been friends for a long time," she says then. "You should just let me go."

Shinji sighs, but it's mostly to cover his annoyance. Can she at least sound a bit sorry over all this?

"Ya know that I can't do that," he retorts nonchalantly but means every word.

Lisa fixes him with a stare behind her glasses. "I didn't do anything wrong," she tells him. "It's not like I hurt anybody. Not really. It was all in good fun."

His eyebrows lift into his forehead as he looks at her dumbfounded. She can't actually believe that. Can she? She can't really think that it's okay to force herself on someone, right? That it's okay to randomly drug everybody and their sister and have her wicked way with them? That she can fuck with one of their own and not have to face the consequences?

"Ya hurt one of us. Ya hurt another Vizard."

He says it like it's obvious, and it is. It should be. They are Vizard. They are both Shinigami and Hollows. They have to stick together. Even though Soul Society has seemingly welcomed them back, that's no excuse to turn her back on them and use Ichigo like a fucktoy. Much less for her to go out and do the same to other people. Kuchiki-hime. His lovely sister. Kensei's fanboy. And fuck, even Ukitake!

It'd be one thing to do this to someone like Aizen. Or to the bastards who tried to kill them. But none of her conquests were even involved in that. Most of them were either kids or hadn't even existed at the time.

He says as much to her, but Lisa doesn't even bat an eyelash. Shinji feels like tearing his hair out in frustration at her completely uncaring expression. Or maybe he should just throttle her. It'd be easier in the long run, and she deserves it. For Ichigo. For the others.

"Gods be damned, Lisa," Shinji can't help but say then. "Ichigo's just a kid. We both remember when he was born; it sure as fuck wasn't that long ago."

"He isn't a kid. Not anymore." She shrugs. "And besides, he enjoyed it. I didn't hurt him at all."

He honestly can't believe his ears. He's known her through the best and worst of times, but this is beyond what even he thought of her. It's so over the top. So fucking ridiculous.

What the hell is wrong with her?

"Why even fucking do this?" And he can't keep the heat from his voice. "Was it just another conquest? More tallies to add to your bedpost?"

"It didn't mean anything. Not to me." Lisa sniffs. "I was just bored."

Shinji feels his hand tighten around Sakanade's hilt. He ends it a second later, ends it before she can say more and he decides not to make this quick. A kidoh takes care of her until she's just ashes. The only thing Shinji buries is her sword, and even that will dissolve into spirit particles soon enough. When he's done, it's impossible to tell what happened there, save for perhaps a few stray scorches.

Shinji looks over the scene for a minute. Then, he sticks his hands in his pockets and heads for the nearest bar. But he doubts he can wash away the foul taste in his mouth no matter how much he drinks.

o0o0o

"Is it done?"

The old man asks that question the second Yoruichi flashes into existence in his office. His face is a mask, impossible to read, but she can tell that he only wants good news.

"Yes. Shinji and Unohana-san both did their duty."

She stretches her arms over her head and massages at the crick in her neck. It wasn't easy following either of them, a task only for the best, which is why Yamamoto asked her in the first place. Still, she has to wonder if one or both knew she did. Knew that she was there to witness and confirm the deaths of two criminals. Yoruichi can't say she isn't satisfied by the outcome, however. Not after all that she's learned in the last several days. She isn't sure how she missed it in the first place. Either Unohana-taichou is very good at keeping secrets, or Yoruichi is just getting old.

Maybe a bit of both truth be told.

Yamamoto just puffs at his pipe at her news and gives a final nod.

"Has anyone else come forward?" Yoruichi asks, shifting her weight in an ongoing effort to ease the cramping in her legs.

"No," the captain-commander answers. "And it is unlikely that anyone will."

Yoruichi arches one brow. "Or maybe there are no more victims."

"We can only hope," Yamamoto says tiredly, a puff of smoke rising from the end of his pipe. He then turns to other matters like he hadn't confirmed the deaths of a vice-captain or one of their Vizard allies. Or maybe he's just trying not to show his satisfaction.

"Yamada will be the new lieutenant of the fourth. It's already arranged," he informs Yoruichi then. "It has only to be announced."

She considers that for a moment. Turning the possibilities and explanations over in her head.

"Will there be a memorial for Kotetsu? They'll ask questions if there isn't one."

He dismisses her concern with a wave. "Her sister will undoubtedly arrange something." Yamamoto takes another draw of his pipe.

"It'll help her find closure if nothing else," Yoruichi comments idly. "She still doesn't know what happened to her captain, and I'd say that it's probably better this way."

"The Vizard woman," he begins then, "Yadomaru, was it?"

"Yadomaru Lisa," Yoruichi confirms, but she isn't fooled by his act for a single second. "What of her?"

"What will they say happened to her?" he asks, and there's something to his tone that says everything and nothing. "She has become something of a fixture in Seireitei."

Yoruichi tilts her head. "That she's gone back to the living world. And later, Shinji will say she was killed. Everyone will make assumptions from there."

"Good, good." But Yamamoto almost says it distractedly as he rises to his feet. "Very good. Well done, Shihouin-san. You have our gratitude."

Yoruichi follows him with her eyes but says nothing. She would've done the deed herself if given the chance, and she knows that the old man would've, too.

She just watches as he dons his haori and reaches for his cane. He steps are steady, almost light as he heads for the exit.

"Off to see, Ukitake-san," Yoruichi calls after him.

Yamamoto pauses with his hand halfway to the door. She can't see his face, but she's shrewd enough to guess his expression. Even with his ironclad control, the old man's still human underneath it all. Kotetsu might've been Unohana's beloved lieutenant, and Lisa might've been Shinji's friend, but Ukitake and Shunsui will always be the old man's sons. And nobody gets away with hurting either of them. Much less both.

Nobody.

Yamamoto inhales but doesn't turn to glance at her. "Yes," the old man says, and his voice is strong as ever, "he's been quite unwell lately. A visit will do him good."

She watches him leave before turning for the window. After all, she hasn't seen Byakuya-bo for a while. Maybe it's time for that, too.

***


	8. Chapter 8

Isane sighs and knocks back another drink. Behind her, the crowd is raucous, and Isane doesn't even need to look to know who's there.   
  
Abarai is all the obvious for his voice. Madarame for his booming laugh. Kira for his quiet chastisement. Hisagi for his deep-throated chuckle. And Kurosaki for his embarrassed bluster.   
  
She could probably dance naked in front of them, and they'd never notice.   
  
“Sucks, doesn't it?”   
  
Isane turns her head to find the seat on her other side occupied by Yadomaru Lisa, one of the Vizard whose exile has been recently lifted. She too is a constant visitor to this bar. Isane's seen her here before; they've even chatted.   
  
“Evening, Lisa-san,” she greets and tips her cup to the other woman. “What do you mean?”   
  
Lisa gestures over her shoulder to the group of good-looking men who make it a point to congregate together. As if taunting everyone with the fact they can only look and not touch.   
  
“All of that,” she says with a grin. “It's not fair, is it?”   
  
“Not in the slightest,” Isane sighs again and glances over her shoulder.   
  
They're teasing Kurosaki mercilessly now. His face is cherry red at this point. Isane finds it incredibly adorable and a bit sexy. Her hands itch to go over there, but she knows she never will. They wouldn’t notice even if she did.  
  
“I might as well be invisible,” Isane mutters mostly to herself.   
  
“You?” Lisa snorts, signaling for another drink to come her way. “I'm used goods. And types like Kurosaki don't pay any attention to someone like me.”   
  
They sigh in tandem.   
  
“Too bad there isn't a way to make him see us, huh?” Isane remarks, half-turning in her seat to watch the men at the table; they haven’t even once looked her way.  
  
There’s a pause that’s almost assessing. Her eyes are hard to see behind her glasses, but Isane thinks that Lisa’s gaze flickers around. No one is paying them any attention, and that’s the real problem, isn’t it?  
  
“Not any _legal_ ways in any case,” Lisa comments then, and her voice is soft. Gentle. Almost inquiring. Not nearly as idle or uninterested as her body language implies.  
  
Despite herself, Isane is intrigued. Maybe it's the liquor. Maybe it's the laughter that rises from the table behind them. Either way, she turns to Lisa.   
  
“And you know of another way then?” she asks and can hardly believe she just said that.  
  
Lisa simply smiles.   
  
o0o0o  
  
Lisa comes up with the plan, but Isane is the one with access to the drug. She acquires more than enough doses from the fourth division, stashing them away in her quarters where no one will ever find them. Isane knows that if and when its use comes to light, there’ll probably be stricter rules to accessing it. And she'd rather not paint suspicion on herself so soon.   
  
They divide the duties between them.   
  
Isane is the stealthier of them, able to skirt on the edges of any crowd. Rarely is she noticed.   
  
And isn't that what started it in the first place?   
  
No one sees her. No one even realize she's there. She's just the tall woman in the background who sometimes smiles, sometimes blushes. She's not loud and busty like Matsumoto. She's not quiet and mysterious like Kuchiki Rukia. She's not vastly intelligent like Ise-san. She's not gorgeous like Shihouin-sama.   
  
Isane is unnoticeable. Invisible. Her own sister forgets about her half the time and only seems to remember when she needs something. The only one to ever see her is Unohana-taichou, but she’s always so busy. Always saving lives and healing the injured. She just doesn’t have time for Isane. It seems that no one does. No one has a second of attention to spare her.  
  
It helps here as much as she hates that truth.   
  
Lisa though is good at getting people to talk. At being a distraction. She's good at melding into the crowd, making herself at home. At being there and seen but still melting away when needed.  
  
It’s the perfect combination. Like fate herself has smiled upon them for once in their lives.  
  
They have to plan carefully. They have to wait for the right time, the right circumstances. They’re cautious; neither is willing to be caught. For Lisa, that would end the game. For Isane, there are more worrisome consequences.  
  
It’s just this once though. Isane promises herself that. Just this once. Just make someone see her this once, and that will be the end.  
  
But somehow, deep in her heart, Isane already knows it won’t be enough.  
  
o0o0o  
  
Kurosaki Ichigo isn’t a boy anymore. He hasn’t been for awhile, but it’s become more noticeable. More striking. His face is lean and attractive under the scowl. Or perhaps even because of it. He’s strong. Loyal. Even smart at times. Everything a girl could ever want or need.  
  
He doesn’t even know Isane’s name.  
  
His birthday is the perfect opportunity. Everyone is drunk and distracted when the party’s in full swing. Isane doubts that any of them but the birthday boy will be sober come morning, much less remember most of the night.  
  
She sneaks the drug into a drink, but Lisa's the one who gives it to him. No one's suspicious because everyone's been handing Kurosaki something at some point or another. Abarai, Kuchiki, Urahara, Hirako, Madarame. Everyone. Half of Seireitei is in attendance. Coming and going. Going and coming. It’s so simple to slip over to him.  
  
Lisa whispers a suggestion that he leave early once they're sure the drug has taken effect. No one notices. Kurosaki is too busy blushing and sputtering over having his face squashed into Matsumoto's breasts. And when he excuses himself to the restroom, Lisa firmly entrenches the idea into his head.   
  
It isn't long after that Kurosaki decides to go back to Abarai’s flat.   
  
Isane meets him outside, offers to help him find his way. Kurosaki easily agrees. He still gets lost after all, and all she wants is a breath of fresh air. He has no reason to doubt her. No reason to see her as anything but that nice woman from the fourth division. He even thanks her for the offer.   
  
By the time they get to Abarai's place, Lisa is already there. Her hair is loose and free around her shoulders, and her clothes are open for easy access. She entices Kurosaki forward, and the drug turns him into a compliant man who blushes but falls quickly under her spell. Lisa kisses him first, soft but rapidly growing rougher. Isane expects her to lead him to the bed, but Lisa just turns to her with a smile and beckons her forward.  
  
“I get the first taste, but you deserve first dibs,” she says naughtily. “Let’s show the birthday boy a good time, shall we?”  
  
Isane doesn’t have to be told twice.  
  
Lisa undresses him, but Isane folds his clothes. She doesn't even think about it; the action is purely a result of years painstakingly folding her own. Lisa laughs, poking fun at her tidiness, but Isane just flushes and reminds her that the drug doesn't last forever.   
  
Kurosaki, for his part, simply does as they direct. He allows Lisa to slip his shihakushou from his shoulders and kisses her back each time. And he’s all too willing when Lisa pushes him towards Isane. He lets Isane pull him down on the futon and makes a sound in his throat when her hands slide to his stomach.  
  
And from there, the rest is easy.   
  
o0o0o  
  
Isane cleans the room afterward, while Lisa gently wipes him down, eliminating all trace of their presence. It's Lisa's idea to leave him nude.   
  
“He might not remember us, but he'll know something happened,” she explains with a shake of her head. “And shouldn’t he have something of his birthday gift from us?”   
  
Isane can't think of a good reason to disagree. A part of her wishes this could’ve been real. That she could’ve looked in his eyes and not just seen the dull sheen of the drug reflected.  
  
But she squashes that part viciously. Such a thing is impossible. It’ll never happen.  
  
At least this way, she’ll always have this moment.  
  
o0o0o  
  
For weeks afterward, they’re certain that they’ve been caught. That Kurosaki must remember something or that they had been seen. But as more time passes, it becomes increasingly obvious that their plan has worked and worked extremely well.   
  
It was only supposed to be a onetime thing. Just that once and never again. But it was just so easy. It was just so wonderful.  
  
Isane isn’t ready to give it up. Lisa's ready to try again.   
  
Isane already has a name. In fact, she has a whole list of them worked out in her head. All the men who’ve never given her the time of day. Who walk by without even seeing her. Who wouldn’t notice her in a million years.  
  
It's as exciting as it is wrong.   
  
They're not hurting anyone, Isane reasons. No one's been harmed permanently. In fact, all they've done is give Kurosaki a night of pleasure he won't remember. What's so wrong about that?   
  
It’s not all that different from being drunk really. From coming home with a stranger from some random bar. At least, he knows the two of them. At least, they won’t really take advantage of it.  
  
In the end, who does it hurt?  
  
o0o0o  
  
They don’t have a particular target for the next attempt. Several plans are created, several contingencies based on a given situation. She and Lisa are both ready to act should an opportunity to present itself. There's no real order to the list Isane has created anyway. It’s first come, first serve. Lisa doesn’t mind a bit.   
  
All they have to do is wait for a chance.   
  
o0o0o  
  
Three months after Kurosaki, they get their next opportunity.   
  
Hisagi Shuuhei is out drinking with his friends, and all of them are plastered, even the normally restrained Kira. The only one who seems to be coherent is Ayasegawa, but not even he can pay attention to everyone at once. Opportunity has knocked at their door, and Isane is eager to answer.  
  
Lisa provides a distraction as before; Isane slips the drug into his drink. Not that he notices since he's well-sloshed by that point.   
  
Iba and Madarame get into a scuffle minutes later, and while Abarai is goading them on with well-placed barbs, Lisa slips in and makes the suggestion. Hisagi, the effects of the drug acting much quicker with the alcohol already in his system, slips away from his friends with a muttered excuse that no one questions.  
  
Iba even calls out some sort of perverted jibe as Hisagi leaves, but the latter waves it off.   
  
Isane meets him outside, guiding Hisagi out the back entrance of the bar and into a shadowed alley. He leans on her as though he can't hold himself up, and she relishes the weight of him at her side. He smells like sake and cologne. He smells like himself. And she thinks about all the times she was close enough to notice at meetings or in the fourth division. All the times his eyes slid over her as if she wasn’t even there.  
  
Isane shakes that thought away, and it’s soon replaced as eagerness pools inside of her. She almost can't believe she's actually doing this again. The excitement of the seduction is almost as good as feeling his skin against hers as she and Lisa both undress him.  
  
The difference between them is startling.   
  
Kurosaki was shy innocence. Hisagi is confidence and knowledge. He isn't afraid to demand, to direct. If anything, the drug has made him more self-aware of what he wants.   
  
Lisa has some odd obsession with his scars and keeps tracing them with her fingers. That only makes him squirm and laugh.  
  
Who could ever known that Hisagi is so ticklish?   
  
o0o0o  
  
This time, Isane gets the honor of cleaning up, while Lisa straightens the room. She's the one who wanders away and comes back with a picture.   
  
“He won't miss it,” Lisa reasons as she admires the brush strokes. She flips it over, noticing the signature at the back. “Huh. I didn't know Kira was this talented.”   
  
Isane raises a brow as she moves to stand. “If Kira made it for him, he'll probably miss it.”   
  
“Not likely,” Lisa snorts, tucking the picture into the bag of assorted necessities they always bring with them. “It was in a guest room covered in dust. It’s not like he’ll care about it. He probably won’t notice for ages.”   
  
Isane lets it go. It's just a picture. Kira can always make him another one after all.  
  
And in the following week, nothing ever happens. Subtle eavesdropping reveals Hisagi to think it all a drunken one-night-stand.   
  
They're in the clear.   
  
o0o0o  
  
A month later, there's a festival in Rukongai. It's an opportunity they can't pass up. Everyone is going to be heading in and out of the city. It'd be virtually impossible for one person to remember everybody who left through the gates. It's the perfect time to get someone into Rukongai who wouldn't normally be found there.   
  
It's the perfect chance to see if they can work their magic on Kuchiki-taichou.   
  
Isane slips the drug into his teacup. She knows where the captain keeps it, and before he can get one of his subordinates to brew his drink, Isane lines the cup itself. It’ll be harder to trace that way if anyone even thinks to look.   
  
Fortune again smiles when Kuchiki-taichou lets Abarai leave the office early. There's no one around when Lisa sneaks in and seduces the drugged up captain. She convinces him to leave his haori behind; it'll be easier for him to blend into the crowd that way.  
  
When they meet Isane outside, she suggests removing the scarf, too. Lisa folds it up, putting it into her pocket. The kenseikan requires too much effort so they leave that until they get to the inn, and really, Isane likes the look of it in his hair.  
  
From there, it's a simple matter to suggest that Kuchiki-taichou head through the gates, joining the stream of Shinigami who plan to attend to festival. A lot of people notice him leaving, but few see him slipping away from the festival and heading deeper into Rukongai.   
  
Nobody notices when Lisa meets up with Kuchiki-taichou and hooks their arms together, grinning as she guides him toward their chosen inn. Isane joins them a block or so later with their bag of supplies. She’s nearly unable to hide her excitement.   
  
The inn is not exactly reputable, but it's clean, and the owner only cares for the money that they shove into his hands. Lisa borrows it from Kuchiki-taichou since he can afford it anyway. She highly doubts that he’ll even notice it’s missing.   
  
Isane's fingers are more agile, so she's the one who painstakingly unravels the kenseikan. Kuchiki-taichou's hair is soft, like silk through her fingers, much nicer than her own. And it smells like an expensive dark spice. Much like the captain himself.   
  
Isane trembles with zeal, and Lisa laughs at her.   
  
“You act like it's the first time,” she mocks.   
  
Isane huffs. “With _him_ , it is,” she retorts. “And it's also the last time.”   
  
“Hmm. You make a good point,” Lisa responds and looks thoughtful. “Better make it count then.”   
  
‘ _I always do_ ,’ Isane thinks, but she keeps it to herself.   
  
She kisses Kuchiki-taichou first because she wants first taste this time. His mouth is soft beneath hers. Pliant but almost hesitant.   
  
Lisa's the one who strips him out of his clothes. She just throws them impatiently to the floor so that Isane has to pick them up and fold them later. That always amuses Lisa the most. Isane can't help wanting to be tidy, and she knows Kuchiki-taichou would appreciate not being wrinkled in the morning.   
  
For some reason though, Kuchiki-taichou motions are sluggish. He's less responsive than the others. Rather than flushing, he pales. And later, he falls asleep much faster, cutting short their fun.   
  
Isane is disappointed, but Lisa reminds her that there will be others.   
  
After much debate, they decide it’s better to leave him in the inn. He'll be safe there, and it’d be too difficult to try and sneak him back into his well-guarded manor. He's a grown man who can find his way back home. He'll be fine.   
  
At least, that’s what Isane fully expects.   
  
o0o0o  
  
When they bring Kuchiki-taichou into the fourth the next day, he's close to death. Isane bites her tongue, worry cresting over her. Something squeezes her heart and lungs. She hadn't meant to hurt him. Neither of them had. She hadn't wanted Kuchiki-taichou to die, and now, that’s looking like a very real possibility.   
  
No one seems to get what's wrong with him.   
  
Isane knows that sometimes the drug interacts badly with a patient, but she's never seen this severe a reaction before. She hopes desperately that someone else will figure it out, and when nobody does, she tentatively makes the suggestion.   
  
She doesn't want Kuchiki-taichou to die. She never meant for this to happen. And it scares her, especially when she stands there in his doorway and watches him lying in his bed, hooked up to so many machines. He's weak, weak where he shouldn't be.   
  
The guilt is heavy. It weighs her down.   
  
Lisa feels guilty, too.   
  
For a long time, they sit in the shadowed corner of their usual meeting place and quietly share a round of drinks.   
  
“It was an accident,” Lisa whispers, and her hands actually shake as she puts down her sake.   
  
“We didn't accidentally give him the drug,” Isane retorts and then softens her voice. “But we didn't mean to hurt him.”   
  
“We couldn't have known,” Lisa suggests. “There’s no way we could’ve known this would happen.”  
  
“I should’ve known,” Isane sends back, and that's where most of the guilt lies.   
  
She's the lieutenant of the fourth division, the second in command. She should’ve considered this possibility.   
  
Lisa takes a sip and removes her glasses to rub at the bridge of her nose. “We'll have to be more careful next time. We’ll have to be sure.”   
  
Isane glances at her.   
  
The Vizard raises her eyebrows, replacing her glasses. “You're telling me you want to stop?”  
  
“No,” Isane replies and is almost ashamed of herself for refusing to quit this game.  
  
“Then we'll have to be careful,” Lisa retorts as though this should be obvious.  
  
She's right, of course. Isane knows how to be careful now, what to watch for. She can check and make sure no one else on her list is susceptible to the drug in such a dire fashion.   
  
She can't quit now, Isane realizes. She's gotten a taste of what she’s always wanted. She can't just admit defeat. She can’t go back to being unnoticed and forgotten.  
  
Isane nods in agreement. “We'll be careful.”   
  
A week later, she goes home and crosses two names off their list. Better to be safe. Even if she’s sorry not to get a taste. But perhaps there’s a way to modify the drug. A way to make it safer to use.   
  
Isane will just have to put a little work into it.  
  
o0o0o  
  
Rukia-san is Lisa's choice. She's always been interested in being with a woman, and Isane has to admit she's curious, too. It's not one of her top picks, but she's willing to give it a go. She doesn't know why Lisa wants the girl so badly, but since Isane doesn't have an opinion either way, she agrees.   
  
They have to wait several months before they get a chance to try again.   
  
The Shinigami Women's Association dinner presents the perfect opportunity. Especially when the men try to host one of their own across the street. That effectively makes any possible suspect list miles and miles along. That effectively gives them free reign.  
  
Isane sits next to Rukia-san at the dinner. It's easy enough to nonchalantly drop something into her cup. No one notices. They’re all too busy arguing with their president over their next Manliest Man Contest.   
  
They are already in Rukongai. It's a simple matter from there to whisper into Rukia-san's ears. With all the noise in the room, they have to lean in to talk to each other anyway. So no one thinks anything of Isane having to be so close. Besides, Isane's always been known to be quiet.   
  
Rukia-san excuses herself with the need to get some air.   
  
Outside, Lisa is waiting for her. She coaxes Rukia-san away from the dinner while Isane remains for at least an hour more to keep up appearances. She stumbles away with the rest of the halfway inebriated lot on their way back, and some of them get into an argument with the men who’ve been thrown out of restaurant next door. In the craziness that results, Isane finds reason to slip off on her own.   
  
It's easy enough to find her way to the inn where Lisa made reservations under an alias and a disguise. Anyone asking after them will be directed toward a man wearing a shihakushou, sunglasses, and hair covered by a bandanna.   
  
Isane arrives and learns that Lisa has started without her. It's really not fair, but that's the way things work out, Isane supposes.   
  
They quickly discover, however, that Rukia-san is much more delicate than the men. They accidentally leave marks behind. Lisa gets too overzealous with her kisses, and Isane grips her wrist too hard.   
  
Isane is afraid of using too much reiatsu to heal her afterward, afraid of the signature it’d leave behind. So she soothes away the worse of the bruising and relies on nature to take care of the rest. It’s not too terrible anyway. Something that will heal in a day or less. Maybe she won’t even notice.  
  
o0o0o  
  
How much more wrong can this be?   
  
Isane wonders as she lowers her head and quietly heals the bruises on Rukia's skin. It's almost ironic. Matsumoto brought her there because they don't dare approach Unohana-taichou. And yet, Isane is the last person they should trust.   
  
There's a secret thrill in knowing the truth, as much as there is a stirring of guilt.   
  
She knows she can't keep this quiet from Unohana-taichou. Isane has to tell her, and so she does. But there isn't an ounce of suspicion in her captain's eyes. And why should there be?  
  
Isane is her quiet child. Her golden girl. She can do no wrong in her captain’s eyes. It’s as exhilarating as it is saddening to realize that Unohana-taichou doesn’t even know her at all.  
  
o0o0o  
  
Ukitake-taichou is another of Lisa's choices, though Isane is hard pressed to counter it. She's always thought him an attractive man way out of her league. Even the smallest chance to touch him outside the professional sense is more than she could’ve expected.   
  
He's also one of the more difficult names on the list. If Kyouraku-taichou is not attached to his side, then his two third seats – including Isane's sister – are. It’ll be a challenge to slip the drug into a drink, much less get him alone enough to guide him away from his undeclared protectors.   
  
Luckily, Abarai gets promoted and all of Seireitei feels this is cause to celebrate. Considering that the ninth division has had no captain since Aizen's betrayal several years prior, that wouldn't be far from the truth.   
  
Or maybe the Shinigami will allow any reason to party. Who knows?   
  
Either way, it opens doors for Isane and Lisa. The party becomes a huge distraction for everyone. It gives reason to indulge, even for those who wouldn't normally.   
  
It's all the chance they need.   
  
Lisa distracts her former captain. She joins the group of men and women who sit around a table and divide numerous bottles of fine sake as Kyouraku-taichou gets more and more inebriated. He’s too busy singing dirty songs to watch out for his best friend. Much less to see what anyone else is doing.  
  
Isane distracts her sister and Sentarou-kun. It's easy enough. A subtle suggestion to both and they both scurry out of the party, arguing over who is going to do most of the work. They'll be in the thirteenth all night, scribbling paperwork and scrubbing Ukitake-taichou's office until it's sparkling clean. Their fight for his attention is so pathetic it’s almost cute.  
  
After that, the rest is simple.   
  
In fact, all it takes is a moment of clumsiness.   
  
Isane, nonchalantly walking by as she carries some drinks for a few other people, stumbles over her own feet. It's almost comical the way she falls, managing to fall in such a way that the cold drinks only spill on Ukitake-taichou and nobody else.   
  
It's no trouble for Isane to pretend utter embarrassment. She blushes, apologizes profusely, and Ukitake-taichou is all smiles and forgiveness. It's the perfect excuse for him to go home early, while assuring Kyouraku-taichou that he'll be fine, and the drug easily transfers through the skin. Ukitake-taichou excuses himself from the party, and not long after, Isane does the same.   
  
Everyone just thinks she's too embarrassed to stick around. Isane doesn't correct them. She leaves and heads in the direction of her apartment, and when she's sure no one is looking, doubles back and alters her course for Ukitake-taichou's home.   
  
At first, he’s confused to find her at the door, but the drug has already started to take effect. Isane is a bit nervous, starting things by herself, but Ukitake-taichou is so nice that it's easier to move with the flow.   
  
He hasn’t had time to change his clothes since Isane spilled the drinks on him, and she can't keep the blush from her cheeks as she helps strip him of the white haori and shihakushou. He's so pale, and there are so few scars that Isane can't help staring. She can see why Lisa would want him so much.   
  
The other woman joins them an hour later, after she manages to extract herself from her drinking buddies. She grins when she invites herself inside, taking no time to throw off her clothes and looking flushed from all the alcohol she imbibed. She just smirks as she watches Isane toy with Ukitake-taichou’s hair, both of them naked on his bed.  
  
“Starting without me, I see,” Lisa teases with a predatory gleam in her eyes.   
  
Isane's blush darkens her cheeks. “Can you blame me?”  
  
The Vizard's gaze slides past her to Ukitake-taichou. He’s still a bit flushed with exertion, and his eyes are half-lidded.  
  
Lisa chuckles and steps forward.  
  
o0o0o  
  
They are in the middle of cleaning up all traces of their presence when Lisa senses Kyouraku-taichou's return. Apparently, this is one of many nights that he plans to spend at his best friend’s house.   
  
They make their escape in a hurry, managing to grab everything that could be possibly linked to them. They lack the time to do a last thorough check. But Lisa is confident, and Isane agrees. They know what they are doing by now; there's nothing to worry about.   
  
o0o0o  
  
The moment Unohana-taichou sets the golden bead down on the desk, Isane knows that their game has come to an end. That everything’s over. That there's nothing left to do but accept her fate.   
  
She lowers her head, scrubs her palms down her hakama-covered thighs, and admits the truth. There's guilt, yes, but it's mixed with satisfaction. It’s mixed with being the first to know Kurosaki’s touch. The feel of sliding against Hisagi. Remembering Kuchiki-taichou’s taste. The softness of Rukia-san’s skin. Hearing Ukitake-taichou’s breath in her ear.   
  
She knows her captain won't ever understand. No one will.   
  
They would’ve never noticed Isane otherwise. They never would’ve seen her. She was nothing to them. She _is_ nothing to them.  
  
But they sure as hell notice her now.   
  
*****


	9. Chapter 9

The door closes with a final click, and Retsu tucks the key into her pocket. Her hakama dips with the addition. It's only a tiny weight, but it seems heavier.  
  
It’s taken days to gather up all of the drug available in Seireitei and store it in a sealed container with only one key. Kurotsuchi-taichou pitched quite a fit when Retsu confiscated his supplies, but the captain-commander's word is law, and he has no choice but to obey.   
  
The chances of anyone getting a hold of it now are next to none unless they acquire it from Retsu herself. That is an impossibility. Retsu refuses to let such a thing happen again. Not under her watch.   
  
The guilt she feels is too much already.   
  
_“You're right,” Retsu says, staring at her vice-captain, forcing her fingers to unclench where they have wound around Isane's arm. “I don't understand. So why don't you tell me.”  
  
Isane snorts, and it's the first time Retsu has ever heard such a bitter sound from her second's mouth. She doesn't resist the binding spell Retsu places on her. In retrospect, it probably isn't even necessary. Isane seems prepared to accept her fate. Not so much as flinching when Retsu informs her that the captain-commander has already decided her punishment.   
  
Not that it hasn't always been obvious.   
  
“You want an answer because not understanding is a failure,” Isane retorts, finally lifting her eyes to look at her captain. There's a surprising amount of defiance there.   
  
Retsu stares at her, inwardly choosing her words with great care. “I ask because the woman who is my lieutenant would never do such things. I ask because I do not know what you’ve become.”   
  
“Maybe I am what I've always been and you never noticed.”   
  
She tries to hide her wince, but Retsu has a feeling she failed. Something about this entire debacle has ruined her sense of self-control. Isane's words hit a little too close to home.   
  
Retsu sighs, her disappointment echoed on a breath. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’m only looking to ease my own guilt. I’d still like an answer.” She lifts her gaze, knowing the full force of it is something few have been able to deny. “ **Why** , Isane. Why?”  
  
For a moment, she thinks that Isane isn't going to answer. That she's merely going to press her lips together, tilt her chin defiantly, and carry the secret to the grave. Just like the other names she refuses to give, possible victims that Retsu will never know about.   
  
Instead, Isane draws in a deep breath and looks up at her captain. Meets her eyes with such a fierce gaze that Retsu is startled by the sheer intensity.  
  
“Because they never noticed me otherwise,” she states, and her voice echoes eerily in the silence of Retsu's office. “It was the only chance I’d ever have.”   
  
A chill trickles down Retsu's spine. “So you thought taking something without permission was better than nothing?”   
  
And Isane smiles, but it carries no humor, no pleasure. It has none of her true warmth and all the alienness of the stranger who stares back through her eyes.  
  
“Do you understand now, taichou?”_  
  
Retsu shakes her head. The memory is still as vivid to her now as it is in her dreams. She pats the key in her pocket, turns away from the cabinet, and then casts a barrier spell over it for good measure.   
  
Isane was right after all.   
  
Retsu doesn't understand. And she never will.   
  
o0o0o  
  
“It's very quiet today,” Rukia comments as Ukitake-taichou pours tea into her cup. The wonderful fragrance floats to her nose and makes her mouth water.   
  
Ukitake-taichou chuckles. “Shunsui isn’t here,” he says, reaching for his own drink as well. The entire set of dishware has already been thoroughly checked for foreign substances, but there’s still a second of hesitation before he takes a sip. “Poor Ise-san has finally succeeded in tying him to his desk to finish some much neglected paperwork.”   
  
Rukia feels her lips quirk into an amused grin of her own. She knows that her captain probably isn’t exaggerating either.  
  
“Poor Kyouraku-taichou,” she comments mischievously and eyes the plate of delicious pastries set out.   
  
If anyone else served them, Rukia would be wary. Even months later, she can't shake it. Some might call her paranoid; Rukia prefers to think of it as learning her lesson. She'll never have her security stolen from her again.   
  
_Never_.   
  
Ukitake-taichou laughs again, and for a moment, they sit in a companionable silence. Sipping at their tea, snacking on lace cookies, and enjoying the soft quiet. It's nice. Rukia quite enjoys it. Of course, she's always enjoyed spending time with her captain, especially outside of her division duties. Something that has occurred a lot more often as of late.   
  
“How have you been sleeping?” Ukitake-taichou asks very softly then.  
  
Rukia tries not to make a face. Before Unohana-taichou told her who to blame, her nightmares were terrible. Keeping her up at night so that she'd wander into the thirteenth the next day with dark circles under her eyes. She couldn't sleep. Every creak, every soft rustle, jolted her into consciousness.   
  
She hated not knowing who to trust. She hated not feeling safe. But when Unohana-taichou reassured that not only had they caught the perpetrator but that they had been punished, sleep came a lot easier. She doesn't dream anymore for one thing. Those nightmares have drifted away on the wind. Her home is safe again. After all, it was the one place they didn't dare bring her. No one can touch her in the Kuchiki manor.   
  
Nii-sama would kill the next person who’d dare think of touching her wrongly. She's seen the desire for blood in his eyes. Renji and Ichigo, too. Those thoughts comfort her. And even Sode no Shirayuki rattles in her sheath, desperate to wreak vengeance. She's not powerless, not anymore. There's a face to hate, two of them, and Rukia has no trouble loathing them all the same.   
  
Rukia brushes crumbs from her cheek. “Better,” she admits, fiddling with her cup. “I actually sleep through the night now.”   
  
“I'm glad.” Her captain tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear, but it just slips free again, too short to be held back. “I've always known you to be a woman of great strength.”  
  
She feels the blush starting on her ears first, and Rukia hides her reaction behind her teacup. She should be immune to his compliments by now, but he's so sincere that it's hard not to react.   
  
“Thank you,” Rukia murmurs.   
  
Her captain smiles at her and reaches forward to pat her hand. His skin is deceptively soft, and if his fingers linger a second too long, neither of them comments.  
  
o0o0o  
  
Swords clash with a clang that rings across the courtyard. Dust rises. And an arc of dark reiatsu cuts through the air to soar upwards and intersect the white clouds.   
  
Ichigo grins as he swipes a hand over the sweat gathered on his forehead. “That all you got?” he asks, setting Zangetsu against his shoulder, sharp edge out.   
  
Byakuya arches one finely manicured eyebrow. He gives a toss of his head that’s a tad too telling, but his eyes are what really give him away.  
  
“Are you now reduced to juvenile taunting?” he counters, a streak of grime on one cheek and a noticeable rip in his hakama.   
  
Ichigo, for his part, is no less marked. He's got a bruised jaw and a scorched sleeve. But he’s enjoying every second of this. They both are.  
  
“It's working, isn't it?”   
  
The captain snorts. “Hardly.”   
  
Chuckling, Ichigo dissolves out of bankai. He lowers his now heavier zanpakutou to the ground and tips his head back to look at the sky.   
  
“So you say,” he retorts as his stomach growls, demanding to be fed. “Looks like I’ll have to kick your ass some other time.”   
  
“I am not the same ignorant man I was that day,” Byakuya reminds him, as though still offended by the defeat he suffered at Ichigo's hands years before.   
  
“None of us are,” Ichigo comments  
  
And for a minute, both of them are thrust into the present. The recent past still hangs around in the corner like a Huge Hollow in the room no one wants to acknowledge. Heavy and hungering and just a bit frightening.  
  
They've moved on, but there are still times when they can't forget. No matter what they can't remember.   
  
Byakuya refuses to drink or eat anything at his office now. Even if he makes it himself, he doesn’t trust the dishware. Ichigo can’t count the number of times that he’s had to bring the man something before he keels over from hunger. He’s still too thin to pull that shit, and at least, Unohana-san agrees with him.  
  
Byakuya might make faces at him about it, but Ichigo knows he’s always grateful.   
  
They all have their little hang-ups after all.   
  
Byakuya can’t admit things aloud. Ichigo, for his part, still has to fight off feelings of being watched. He also doesn't drink or eat anything unless he's seen it prepared by someone he knows he can trust. Not just an acquaintance who should be an ally but someone he'd trust with his life. And if everyone thought women made him uncomfortable before, they've no idea what it's like now.   
  
He has dreams, too. Sometimes, he thinks they are the memories trying to fight through, but Unohana-san has already explained that as an impossibility. She suspects that they’re his mind's attempt to recreate a memory from his own imaginations of what must’ve happened.   
  
Imaginations. Like Ichigo wants to remember. Knowing the ones who did it doesn't make it any better. It just means he has faces to add to those ghostly hands that haunt his nights and mornings when he wakes up with sticky sheets and curdling shame.   
  
Ichigo knows the psychology. He knows it's only natural and expected and he shouldn't let it bother him. But what the fuck do they know?  
  
“--to lunch then?” Byakuya suggests, effectively pulling Ichigo from his reverie. “Before you become someone who needs to take his own advice.”   
  
A smile tugs at Ichigo's lips, chasing away the lingering bitterness. He's always bugging Byakuya to eat more.   
  
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Let's go.”   
  
The past is the past. He's going to make it stay there, just like everything else. Grand Fisher. Ulquiorra. Defeating his Hollow the first time. Losing to Byakuya. Everything that's left its mark on Ichigo, he has learned to overcome.   
  
This is only a matter of time.   
  
o0o0o  
  
“It's a shame, isn't it?”   
  
Izuru frowns as he looks up from his drink. The first and only he’ll have tonight. He’s not going to drink to excess. Not anymore.  
  
“What is?”   
  
Senpai is swirling his finger around the lip of his cup with his forehead pinched from thought. “Kotetsu,” he says, sounding thoughtful. “I never really knew her.”   
  
He can't fight his wince, so Izuru doesn't bother. Hisagi-san doesn't know the truth, doesn't care to know the truth. That means Izuru is the one stuck with the knowledge. Stuck with the guilt. What can he do but flinch and think of the irony of his senpai's words?  
  
“What do you mean?” Izuru questions, sitting back and wondering if maybe he really should signal their server to bring him something stronger. The urge to blurt out the truth – denial be damned – sits heavy and leaden on his soul.   
  
The fact that they've just come back from Kotetsu Isane's memorial makes this all the more chilling. They attended because she was a fellow vice-captain and because Kiyone-san had asked. They went because Hisagi-san hadn't known any better and Izuru didn't dare correct him.   
  
The older man shrugs. His gaze slips past Izuru as he lifts his cup to his lips.   
  
“I'm just saying... she was cute. I should’ve tried talking to her.”   
  
It takes all of Izuru's self-control to keep his jaw from dropping. He drowns the queasiness in his belly with a swift shot of sake. It’s all he’s allowing himself; Izuru might as well make it count.  
  
He doesn’t say anything to that. Just makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat that his senpai takes as agreement. Luckily, Hisagi-san drops the subject, moving on into a talk about how well he and Abarai-kun are shaping up the ninth division. Maybe it's because he noticed Izuru's discomfort, or maybe it's a little something else. Izuru doesn't know, and he's not ever going to ask.   
  
Hisagi-san is better served by his denial, and far be it for Izuru to correct him. So he simply lifts his hand, signals for another round for his senpai but not himself, and laughs when Hisagi-san mentions how strange it is for his former kouhai to be his captain.  
  
But in the back of his mind, Izuru still wonders.  
  
o0o0o  
  
It's something that has to be done.   
  
Shinji's only been putting it off because every time he even thinks about approaching the closed door, his gut churns and the sour taste in his mouth returns. He finds himself overwhelmed by an irrational anger, and Sakanade burns at his side.   
  
But enough’s enough. It's time to take out the trash.   
  
He opens the door to Lisa's room and stares at an area so neat it seems a perfect contrast to her sloppy personality. Shelves are nearly but not quite overflowing with her collection of erotic manga, her futon is carefully folded and rolled into the closet, and there is a subtle perfume lingering in the air. That's probably Shinji's fault though; he's kept this door shut since that day.   
  
Shaking his head, Shinji gets to work. He's brought garbage bags with him, and there's nothing to do but start shoving shit inside. If there was anything one of the others wanted to keep, they've had ample time to claim it. At this point, there's nothing in this room Shinji wants anything to do with.   
  
To him, it's all trash.   
  
He's dumping out the contents of Lisa's dresser when he finds it, a picture with a signature on the back that reads Kira Izuru. It takes him a minute, but Shinji vaguely recalls that’s the name of that droopy-eyed kid from the third. Shinji highly doubts this was a gift. In fact, he distinctly remembers Retsu-chan mentioning that Kensei's fanboy was missing a picture.   
  
Somehow, he's not surprised that Lisa took it. She always did do that. Taking what didn’t belong to her.  
  
He tucks it into his pocket if only because that Hisagi guy probably wants it back. Shinji really doesn't want to know what else Lisa kept as a souvenir, and if he fucking finds any of Ukitake’s hair here, he’s just going to burn the room and everything in it to the ground.   
  
But Shinji keeps going for the time being and tries not to look at anything too closely. The memory of Lisa's arrogance rings in the back of his head though. She hadn't even had the decency to act ashamed.   
  
_She's smug, too damn smug as Shinji confronts her after Retsu-chan told him the truth. There's a gleam to her eyes that makes his skin crawl. His fingers twitch as he stares at her, but she's just standing there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.  
  
“I know what you're thinking.”   
  
Shinji snorts. “Ya have **no** idea what's on my mind.”   
  
Lisa smirks at him, glasses catching the light in an eerie fashion that’s all too similar to Aizen. It makes part of Shinji’s soul want to quiver up and die right there. He saw through Aizen, and he knows what Lisa’s like, but he didn’t quite see this. It makes him wonder what else he’s missed. What else about the people in their little family is going to come back to bite them in the ass.  
  
“You're wondering if I ever did anything to you,” she says then. And it’s so damn smug. Like she’s proud of herself for rattling him.  
  
Bitch probably is.   
  
“I don't have any blank spots in my memory,” Shinji snaps back, feeling like he's being dragged down to a childish level but unable to stop himself.   
  
Her smirk doesn't fade, only widens. One foot taps the floor.   
  
“That you can remember,” she reminds him.   
  
For the first time in his life, Shinji feels the urge to strike a woman. Not the play taps that he and Hiyori sometimes exchange. But to really hit her. To hit and make it hurt. And not just because she hurt him first and it’d be justice.  
  
There’s a lot of shit he’s done in his life. Most of it was for the Shinigami when he was still one. But he can honestly say that this is beyond him. He’s never hit a woman. He’s never taken anyone by force. He’s never stabbed anyone in the back, much less a friend.  
  
His lips pull back into a snarl as he resists the urge to pick apart his memories of the last few decades. He won't let her bait him like that. He won’t.  
  
“Is that so?” Shinji snaps before he can’t stop himself. “Then who else, Lisa? What other lives have ya destroyed?” But his voice turns truly nasty then, tit for tat. “Ya like kids, is that it? Ya like the young ones? Like how they can’t fight back?”  
  
Her grin falters, and her eyes narrow slightly. “Well, look at that. The intractable Shinji losing his cool. Struck a nerve, did I?” she taunts and then tosses a braid over her shoulder. “It was all in good fun, Shinji. Hardly ruining.” She rolls her shoulders. “Besides, I don't kiss and tell.”_  
  
Paper rustles as Shinji rifles through Lisa's desk, dumping everything into a large trash bag. He pulls out one of the drawers and upends its contents. One paper misses the bag, however, and flutters to the ground.   
  
Shinji pauses, scowls, and scoops it up, fingers poised to crumple it. Until his eyes catch a familiar word. The garbage bag slips to the floor as Shinji straightens out the paper, feeling all the blood drain from his face as he scans the carefully scribed names. Some of them have been crossed out; others haven't.   
  
He's not so stupid that he doesn't know what it is. Their list. Their damn hit list.   
  
And there are still people on it. Familiar people. People Lisa and that Kotetsu chick shouldn’t dare fuck over in a million years.   
  
Kensei. Kisuke. Retsu-chan.  
  
Him.  
  
Shinji’s stomach threatens to revolt right then and there as his eyes scan over his own damn name. He doesn’t know what’s worse. The fact that it isn’t marked out or the fact that it’s there in the first place. That it's so fucking close to the top, too.  
  
The paper crumbles in his hand and then bursts into flames seconds later. It’s only a low level kidoh, but it makes Shinji feel better to watch the ashes flit to the floor and scorch the carpet.   
  
There's still half a room to clean. Shinji doesn't know if he'll be able to stand finding any other surprises. He’s more than tempted to just let it all burn, but Hiyori’ll be on his ass since her room is the one next door. Mashiro’s is on the other side, and she probably wouldn’t mind if he got it by accident. He has a feeling that she’s wondered about Lisa for a long time anyway.  
  
He picks up what bags he's filled and leaves, pulling the door firmly shut behind him. He tosses the full sacks into the large bin outside and washes his hands of it.   
  
Tomorrow, he'll return to Seireitei and give Hisagi back his picture. He'll try not to think of the other names on the list when he does, wondering if any of them know how lucky they are. If any of them have a fucking clue what was waiting for them.  
  
And eventually, he'll scrub his mind of this.   
  
But for now, everything continues to linger. Everything hangs in the back of his head like a stale odor, like bitter ashes.   
  
He'll never understand. But mostly, he’s glad for that.  
  
****


	10. The Hit List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a flash fic from a prompt given to me by readers on livejournal in regards to this universe. The prompt was Shinji and the hit list.

Shinji toys with his empty sake cup. “Hey, Kisuke...?” The other blond makes a noise that could be construed as an invitation to continue and so Shinji does. “Remember those scars on your thighs?”

The shopkeeper's brow twitches as he snorts. “How could I forget?” Kisuke says snidely, taking a long sip of his own sake. “What about them?”

Shinji pushes his cup toward Kisuke, who obliges him by filling it. “I know you're up to date on Seireitei's current events.”

“And things here in the Living World, too, so if you're referring to the incidents, yes I know of them, and no, I can't say I'm surprised,” Kisuke says, and there's a dark bitterness in his voice. “Is that what you wanted? My opinion?”

Shaking his head, Shinji drinks his sake, relishes in the bite of it, and wishes they had something even stronger. Nothing has been able to chase away the sour truth. “No. I found somethin' and I'm thinkin' ya should know about it.”

Kisuke's eyes narrow. “What kind of something?”

“Somethin' like a list,” Shinji says, and his stomach does that twist-turn nausea thing again. His face contorts with disgust. “A list with my name on it. Yer name on it. Other names on it.”

A cold silence that sweeps the room. “A list,” Kisuke repeats flatly. “What kind of list?”

Shinji gulps down his sake and pushes his cup for more, no hesitation from Kisuke in filling it. “As near as I can figure, some kinda hit list.”

He looks at Kisuke and sees a reflection of the same sick and disturbed feeling that Shinji is experiencing for himself. Kisuke works his jaw, like he's fighting for the right words, and he doesn't have any. “Who else?”

Sighing, Shinji hangs his head, rubs the back of his sore neck. “Does it matter?” he asks, and when he glances at Kisuke, the shopkeeper stares at him. “The list is gone anyway. I burned it. I didn't want ta know why some names were crossed and others weren't.”

“She--”

“She's gone,” Shinji interrupts flatly, and his finger nudges his full sake cup, but he doesn't drink it yet. “She's dead. That's all that matters.”

“Yeah,” Kisuke says in a dead tone. “That's all that matters.”

***


	11. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another ficlet inspired by a prompt given on my livejournal. The prompt was "Urahara/Shinji, Urahara's scars"

There's always a moment where Shinji's breath catches, especially as of late. He should know better by now. He's more than familiar with Kisuke's body, and he'd been there all those years ago. He'd seen what caused those scars. He'd been the one to try and heal them, too unskilled to completely erase their existence.

But recent circumstances have made the past suddenly more relevant, fresh in Shinji's mind, and when he pulls off Kisuke's clothes, bearing himself to humid air, there's a flash of thought, a second where Shinji's mind stutters. Not because Kisuke is a very attractive man – even though he is and that's enough to make arousal stir in Shinji's veins – but because of the raised lines that will never go away, that remind Shinji how very lucky Kisuke is.

The marks on his inner thighs are the brightest, perhaps for the delicateness of the skin. Four on the right, three on the left, long stripes of pink, raised flesh that slant downward toward his knees. Evenly spaced, like claw marks, which in essence is what they are. The highest arc of them are perilously close to Kisuke's groin and Shinji is always startlingly aware of them.

The ones on his stomach are deeper, more like gouges, but they healed better because of that. They are lighter, flatter, but still noticeable. Five of them, like someone had laid their palm on his belly and then dragged fingernails down toward his groin, digging in the nails just to see if it would hurt. Just to play like a cat with a new toy.

“You always stare at them,” Kisuke murmurs, his hands tangling in Shinji's hair as he drags the Vizard down closer for a kiss.

“Not always,” Shinji corrects, letting himself be pulled down, one palm resting against the futon for balance, the other stroking down Kisuke's side as his knee nudged against Kisuke's groin in such a way that they both groaned. “Just sometimes.”

“Why?”

It's not really something Shinji can put into words. It's not guilt. Or relief. Or a remembered burst of fury toward the cause of said scars. It's not even that Shinji needs the reminder to be careful or watch his back or that Kisuke must be best friends with Lady Luck. He doesn't have an answer, truth be told, so Shinji doesn't give one.

Shinji's hand slides from Kisuke's side to his belly, fingers stroking lightly over the scars. The bare touch makes Kisuke shiver, but not out of disgust, and that makes Shinji's lips curl with soft amusement.

“Because I can,” Shinji says and cuts off Kisuke's next words – sure to be rife with accusation and confusion – with a kiss. Better that way all around.

***


	12. Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The missing scene between Lisa and Kisuke. Warnings for violence and intent to noncon.

“It was just an accident,” Kisuke repeats, and it almost sounds like he believes it. He grimaces, though, as he inspects his thigh. “She didn't mean it.”

Shinji is average at best with healing kidoh, and the marks seal together in thin red lines. They look better now. If he squints. But there's no mistaking them for anything but fingernail marks. Deep ones to be sure, deep enough to bleed without stopping on their own, but not as deep as they could've been. Shinji shudders to think what could've happened if Kisuke wasn't so good at hand to hand. They're so much stronger with their new Hollow powers. Strong enough for a lieutenant-level to overwhelm an ex-captain.

_The overwhelming, sweltering press of reiatsu in the underground training room finally falls to a bearable level, and Shinji grins, feeling triumphant. The look on Kisuke's face echoes of the same._

_Lisa's on one knee, panting like she's run a marathon. It's been a long few hours, hours spent watching over Lisa as she conquers her Hollow. Shinji leans over, bracing his hands on his thighs, and sucks in several deep breaths of his own. Kisuke swipes a hand over his sweat-damp face and hair, turning away from Lisa._

_And then Shinji stiffens as Lisa's head snaps up, a low chuckle spilling behind the mask. “Oh no, Ki-chan, I'm not done with you yet,” she purrs._

_Lisa – or the Hollow she still is anyway – pounces, there's no other word to describe it, and she and Kisuke go down in a tangle of limbs, rolling across the dusty dirt. Shinji hears Kisuke shout, feels the other blond's reiatsu rise up sharply, to meet Lisa's, which is once again building steadily._

_They scuffle and, against all odds, it's Lisa who emerges the victor, one hand pinning Kisuke by the throat, one knee pressed against his belly. “You like a little slap with your tickle? Is that it, Ki-chan?” Lisa says, and her free hand turns his shitagi to ribbons with nails turned to claws._

_Kisuke's gasping, fingers locked around Lisa's wrist, trying to pry away her grip. He twists beneath her, but she just laughs, and her free hand aims lower, ripping into the fabric of his hakama._

_Shinji shakes himself out of his shocked fugue and shouts her name. Her head swings his direction, nothing visible through the two bare slits in the mask. It's enough, a moment of distraction, and Kisuke takes full advantage of it, damn lucky he's so good at hand to hand. Damn lucky that Shinji is there in a flit of shunpo to make up for the new, startling difference in reiatsu._

Damn lucky for a lot of things.

Shinji purses his lips, blinks out of the memory. “Sure she didn't,” he agrees, but he knows the truth. Not he or Kisuke will ever forget this.

***


End file.
